One Fell Swoop
by Acid and Sinick
Summary: As Snape returns to teach during Harry's eighth year of Hogwarts, Harry remembers something important about Snape that Snape himself may not. Will the stubborn sod let Harry close enough to explain the situation? And what does Headmistress McGonagall have to say about it all?
1. The Bat

**The Bat**

 _Prequel to One Fell Swoop_

* * *

The Great Hall was sunny and smelled of bacon and eggs. The clear sky beyond the enchanted ceiling clashed with the cobweb-decorated walls and the floating Jack O'Lanterns. Harry yawned even wider than the pumpkins as he wandered down the aisle, looking for Ron, someplace to sit, and food. _No. Food first,_ _ **then**_ _Ron and somewhere to sit. I'm starved!_

Just as Harry plopped down on the bench, the edge of a black cloak caught on his shoulder, draping over him like a flung arm.

"Always getting in my way, aren't you, Potter?" a low voice rumbled, right behind Harry.

Startled, Harry looked up as Snape yanked his cloak free and stalked away.

"As if you'd done that on purpose!" Ron groused, "Miserable old bat!"

Harry glanced at the High Table, meeting a certain Professor's glower. Snape's cloak had been warm with body heat, scented with smoke, and not a bit leathery or nasty or otherwise batty. Harry muttered absently, "Wonder why everyone calls him a bat?"

Everyone stared at Harry. _What'd I say?_

"Well, it's obvious, innit?" Ron said through a mouthful of banger, to nods all round.

"He's a vampire!" declared Seamus, at exactly the same time as Dean said "-animagus!"

Harry snorted.

"Look, mate, he can't possibly be a vampire," Dean nodded at the High Table, "He's eating! See?"

"Doesn't prove a thing," Seamus scoffed. "He can always, I dunno, Evanesco it afterwards." The pumpkins floating over their table grimaced and there was a chorus of groans from the Gryffindors, but Seamus went on talking over them, "In fact, that's exactly what he would do, to fool us!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and what's he going to do for blood then? It's not as though any students've been sucked dry."

 _Pity, I wouldn't mind getting 'sucked dry',_ Harry thought, _only not in the neck._ After a moment's daydreaming about shutting up the sarky sod the fun way, Harry grudgingly admitted, _Even by Snape._

"Well, the Slytherins look kinda pale. And no wonder! I bet they all sell it to him. A pint of O+ for an O!" Seamus made a creepy face. "I bet the girls've set up a schedule, monthly!"

The groans got louder. "Do you two mind?" frowned Hermione, "Some of us are actually trying to eat!" Above her, some of the floating pumpkins were beginning to look rather green.

Dean looked both disgusted and impressed with Seamus, though it didn't stop him from talking back. "Still, being a Bat Animagus would be loads easier to hide."

"Yeah? How?"

"People've got away with being unregistered Animagi before."

"Not Hogwarts Professors!" retorted Seamus. "I bet they get vetted by the Ministry six ways from Sunday! ...Except maybe McGonagall," he added. "Who'd examine her?"

Dean grinned at Seamus in a 'back at you' way, "What, her pussy doesn't count?"

Seamus chucked a crust at him. "Me-oww! At least the old cat beats the old bat!"

Their grossout contest had left Harry's daydream in tatters, and he was about to tell the pair of them to shut up, when Malfoy eased out of the continuing stream of arriving students, slowing down to stand behind Harry, right where Snape had stood. Harry half-turned, frowning over his shoulder. _At least Snape looms properly. Who does that nosy little prat think he is? Talk about going from the sublime to the ridiculous!_

Malfoy gave them a smug smile. _Not that the slimy bastard's got any other._ "Do you mean to say you lot don't even know how the Professor got that nickname?" Malfoy jeered.

"Yeah, and we're s'posed to believe you do?" Harry challenged, too annoyed for anything more witty. He didn't want to think about Malfoy knowing anything about Snape.

"Of course I know," Malfoy sneered, "After all, the Professor _is_ Head of my House, not yours."

"All right then," Harry snarled, _this_ close to getting up and shoving Malfoy away, from _his_ table, his housemates, his conversation, "What is he? Vampire, animagus, what? Just say it and get out."

"Neither." Malfoy gave a positive leer and leaned over Harry so that his conspiratorially lowered voice would carry to the entire group of Gryffindors. In a breathy whisper he confided, "Hung. Like. A Beater's Bat!"

Jaws dropped up and down the Gryffindor table, so hard they should've made a collective thud.

Harry gathered himself to leap up and strangle that bleached tart with his bare hands, but before he could do so, Malfoy straightened up, and with a final triumphant smirk, sauntered off to the Slytherin table.

Ron watched Malfoy go, speculation in his eyes as his jaws worked busily on the last banger on his plate. "Huh." he shrugged and swallowed that last mouthful of meat. "Least that explains ferretboy's walk."

The pumpkin floating nearest to Ron expressed its opinion of that thought, by vomiting. Seeds and orange goop fell onto the table between Ron and Neville, who cried "Trevor?" and started digging his hapless pet out of the mess.

Harry ignored all the kerfuffle, in favour of giving Malfoy's turned back the sort of glare that really should be picked out in a line of tiny little daggers. Poisoned ones.

"That settles it," Seamus said. "Tonight, we're goin' down there and see for ourselves."

"What's to see, the Bat's Bat?" Dean mock-gagged. "Er. You first, mate."

Harry frowned sightlessly at his plate, trying to tune them out. It worked better than trying to tune out his own mental images, which all of a sudden were impossible to put off.

"Aw c'mon," Seamus cried to Dean, "You don't actually believe a bloody liar like Malfoy?" He added in a lower voice, "We'll go and find Snape's bottles of blood, or, OK, his bat nest or somethin'. Either way, there'll be some sorta proof. And then we'll all know."

"You're off your chump, Finnegan!"

"What's the matter? Scared of a vampire?"

"Cor, look at Harry, poor sod's still in shock!" Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "Not that I blame you, mate. All that talk of Snape's Bat is enough to drive anyone batty."

"Come on," Seamus urged them, "I say we bring along some of the Twins' supplies, just for distraction and mischief and..."

"I'll go." Harry interrupted.

"You sure?" Seamus frowned. "It's Snape. He hates your guts."

"Yeah. I'll go. Alone! I won't get caught. I've got a - well, tell them, Ron." He gave his best mate a pleading look.

"Harry's right, he's got a - a sixth sense when it comes to hiding from Filch, or anyone. If he can't sneak past the dungeon wards, no one can."

 _Right. What else are Invisibility Cloaks for? I can't let that lot go traipsing through the dungeons, blowing up the place and getting caught out by Snape. With his Beater's Bat._ "Yeah. I'll get to the bottom of this. No if, ands, or bats!"

That time even the pumpkins groaned.


	2. The Forgetmenot

_Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!_

 _How I wonder what you're at!_

 _Up above the world you fly,_

 _Like a tea tray in the sky._

 _ **Alice's Adventures in Wonderland**_ _, Lewis Carroll_

* * *

 **The Forgetmenot**

"Do go on, Galatea," Headmistress McGonagall motioned for the lecture to continue. She frequently sat in during their Defence lessons, for assistance, or, as the school gossip went, because the Headmistress herself was a big fan of the Defence instructor, personally having asked her to come out of retirement for the sake of the students.

"Ahem," Professor Merrythought, who was Harry's eighth Defence instructor in his eight years of Hogwarts, shifted around in her chair. "Where were we? Ah…" Harry tried hard to pay attention, really tried, but: _Eight years! So unfair! I should be at the Auror Academy by now, not listening to someone who spent the past few decades enjoying retirement! I swear the only person happy about how this year turned out is Hermione!_ _I guarantee, no one except Hermione wants to sit through a year's worth of classes, and especially not Defence with someone who looks like a strong gust of wind will end her._ Galatea Merrythought had to be at least a hundred-and-twenty years old by now if not more. "Just call me Granny, dears," she announced to the class on the first day from her fluffy zebra-striped pillow atop the armchair. Her bony form was half-hidden by a giant ball of yarn, with at least five wands circling over it in knitting motion, a striped fuzzy sock hung below, halfway-done. A toothless grin curled around a long, lit pipe.

"Now, a Forgetmenot, named so aptly alongside the Remembrall... yes, Miss Granger?"

"A Forgetmenot is a dark object capable of recounting the holder's least wanted conversations at the worst possible moment," Hermione, her hand still outstretched, exhaled the answer in a single go.

"Very good."

"Doesn't sound all too terrible, huh, Granger," Dean scoffed, from his seat next to Neville, right behind Ginny's seat. Dean had to stay behind, like most of those who skipped their seventh year, and attend class alongside students a year younger. "It just parrots back the things you've said before. Why are we even discussing these in Defence?"

Professor Merrythought pursed her thin, magenta-tinted lips and tilted her head as her thick cat-eye lenses flashed at Dean. "Mr. Thomas," she called out. "A perfect chance to demonstrate. Do come forward, don't be shy. Now, hold this for me, dear." A fuzzy ball, not unlike a yarn ball, flew through the air bobbing right in front of Dean and Dean grabbed it from midair.

"Huh, is that one of them?" Dean squinted, turning the fuzzy ball in his hand. It let out a small, melodic sound, like a baby rattle. "A Forgetmenot. Ooh, scary… Not!"

"Not to worry, class, this one has been around a nursery for quite a while, and thus is rather worn out," said Professor Merrythought, plucking one of the five wands in front of her from the knitting and giving it a wave.

Suddenly the ball shook like a shuddering Pygmy Puff and a voice boomed, resonating from its centre.

"... People've got away with being unregistered Animagi before. I bet they get vetted by the Ministry six ways from Sunday! Except maybe McGonagall," Seamus' voice carried across the entire room, youthful and clear as a bell. "Who'd examine her?"

At the voice of his best friend, Dean's eyes widened as he stared at the ball in his hand in utter shock. As if he knew what came next.

Harry, who was present for that particular Halloween exchange a few years back, cringed at the memory. _Poor Dean! Here it comes._

"What, her pussy doesn't count?"

"Me-oww!" Seamus' voice echoed and died, as Dean dropped the Forgetmenot and it tumbled down the aisle.

Titters of muffled chuckling carried across the aisles. Reassured by it, even Dean let out a brief sigh, or was it too a huff of laughter?

"Silence!"

The entire room grew absolutely still as the Forgetmenot rolled until it stopped by a pair of pointed witch shoes. Headmistress McGonagall looked at the silent room from the advantage of her height and surveyed Dean with a look of absolute disgust.

"This is beyond the pale! Mr. Thomas. Do you have anything to say to me?"

"Headmistress... "

"Very well. Ten points from Gryffindor for being crude and tasteless. I am severely disappointed in you, both of you. Mr. Finnigan may no longer be at Hogwarts but you are. You will report for your first detention with Professor Snape tonight, and you will think about your choice of words carefully. I expect a formal apology two weeks from now, after which we will reconsider how long your detention ought to be."

"Headmistress McGonagall."

"Yes, Mr. Thomas?"

"I am so sorry, both of us are. If you let me owl Seamus tonight, he'll tell you..."

"Two weeks from now. You'd best consider what exactly you wish to say to me."

As Headmistress McGonagall strode out of the classroom, Professor Merrythought gave the class a toothless grin.

"Well, that went well, you can sit down now. Next?"

Harry lowered his head and tried to make himself smaller in his seat. _Please don't call on me, please don't! I don't want to hear anything that thing has to say, I don't ever want to touch one._

 _"Kill me like you killed him, you coward -"_

 _No! Not that. Anything but that._

"Mr. Harper..." A solitary groan echoed from the Slytherin side of the room.

 _Whew! I'm safe._

"Wait," Professor Merrythought's eyes narrowed. "My mistake. Mr. Potter, do come up."

 _Ohshit. Can't the floor open up and swallow me whole? My luck I'd end up two levels down, in Snape's dungeons and that stupid trinket would still keep on talking! Crapcrapcrap!_ Suddenly, Harry was painfully aware of all the stupid, embarrassing things he said throughout the years about any of the teachers. Before the war ended or even began. _We were such idiots then. Not that now's any better._ Resigned to his fate, Harry dragged his feet to the front of the classroom. His shoes felt like lead. One breath, two. It wasn't humanly possible to go any slower.

Just as he reached the teacher's desk, a bell sounded, signalling the end of the lesson, and Harry let out a relieved sigh. He grabbed his bag and was the first to rush out the door to the tune of "Happy All Hallows' Eve, dears! Don't forget your homework!" coming from Professor Merrythought's direction. "And," she paused for her signature line. "May all your thoughts be merry."

He fled until he couldn't hear that squeaky voice, until the classroom door could no longer be seen, behind the turn of the corridor.

The Great Hall was filled with creepy mist, but below it, the pastry scent arose from the filled tables. Harry navigated to his seat, his heart still beating wildly after the Defence lesson. Without paying much attention he almost hit his head on the floating Jack O'Lantern with a lit candle inside. It bobbed out of the way like an Engorgioed snitch right at the last second, saving Harry's fringe from being singed on the spot.

He thought of a different Halloween experience in the Great Hall, was it two years back? The fold of Snape's cloak brushed against his shoulder, the 'Always getting in my way, aren't you, Potter,' rumbled like distant thunder in Harry's memory, and Harry cringed again remembering the follow-up discussion at the Gryffindor table. The taunts from Seamus and Dean. Malfoy's jaw-dropping announcement. _Such stupid kids we were then!_ A breakfast full of gross-out jokes led to one thing after another, prompting a dungeons trip on a dare. And a discovery.

Harry never did talk about what happened afterwards, to anyone, not even Ron. What was the use? Even Snape probably never gave any thought to what happened that day. Not anymore…

Harry remembered though, he remembered it as vividly as if it was yesterday.

* * *

It was two years ago, on a Halloween night when Seamus and Dean dared Harry to sneak into Snape's dungeon to look for evidence of two things, either vampirism or Animagus transformations…

 _"You're off your chump, Finnigan!"_

 _"What's the matter? Scared of a vampire?"_

In the dark of the dungeons, a doorknob glittered silver. As Harry lifted the hood of his cloak, the cluster of serpents coiling to form the doorknob shifted, flattening against the door like a mercury spill. Split tongues flickered at Harry with a hissing chorus.

"Hush," Harry said. "Help me out here."

The middle snake - smallest - gave Harry a suspicious emerald glare. Its faceted eye glazed over with a transparent eyelid as it blinked.

"I had no choice," Harry reasoned with it, or perhaps himself, in Parseltongue, from under the Invisibility Cloak. "If I didn't speak up, Seamus and Dean would've blown Snape's rooms to bits. At least this way I'll keep an eye on things. I won't be long, I just need to talk to him."

Apparently, that was good enough for the snakes, with a sibilant hiss of semi-agreement they swelled from their flattened state into the twisted mushroom-shaped cluster of a functional, ornate doorknob which fit perfectly into his hand.

Harry reached out and turned it, opening the door just a notch and slipping in before anyone else saw him enter. The glittering silver-and-coil motif of the doorknob was repeated in walls and candlestick holders. So many snakes nesting along the fixtures, lying in wait to warm themselves under a candle flame or catch the liquid drips of wax and stray gossip with their tongues.

"Shh," Harry warned them and their eyes glistened in pairs following him.

They looked so cute and cosy, for being such suspicious, Slytherin sods.

Only the fireplace in the corner looked like a bigger extension of Fawkes' nest but darker, without the friendly orange sparks that leapt from Fawkes' feathers like fireflies when he shook out his wings. It looked somewhat friendly and serpent-free and Harry gravitated toward it.

The rest of the dark corners looked positively dangerous and slimy in comparison. The floor breathed wet chill. The stale air smelled of lake-bottom mud and mould and squashed beetles. Harry wrinkled his nose and covered it with a fold of Invisibility Cloak. " _Lumos!_ "

The storeroom looked a bit like a large cupboard: dark and damp, just right for a bat, whether vampire or Animagus. Floor-to-ceiling shelves spanned every wall, full of books, boxes, and bags. Bones too, a whole shelf of them, topped by a brain in a jar. _I do hope that's an ingredient not a former student,_ Harry thought.

 _Maybe it's both. Ugh! It looks like it's wiggling in there. I hope that doesn't mean it's still thinking._

 _Creepy!_ Harry shivered, and all of a sudden the whole room felt narrower, its shelves towering over him, stocked with secrets stashed away in dark corners. And no wonder the place felt like that. Professor Snape was a very private professor, as Harry knew from personal experience, after that awful mess with the Pensieve. Harry could still almost feel Snape's bony hand clutching at his shoulder, dragging him out of the Pensieve, shaking him, shoving him away. At the time, Snape had looked murderous, white as a sheet and practically frothing at the mouth with fury; but when Harry thought about it later, he'd started to have some doubts. _I was standing right in front of Snape when he threw that jar of cockroaches. He shouldn't have missed me. Not if he'd_ _ **really**_ _meant to hurt me..._

Now that he checked the brain out from all angles, it wasn't moving after all. And it didn't look big enough to be human.

Harry shrugged and pushed the jar back so that it sat a bit more firmly onto the shelf, then went back to looking at the other shelves. None of the shelves held any Beater's Bats, or any bats at all, though a pile of fine twigs and cobwebs looked something like what he imagined a bat's nest might look like, and a small labelled sack of bat droppings rested on the top shelf. Lined up bottles on the shelf beneath the maybe-nest were full of dark red liquid.

 _Ahha! Blood! It's got to be._ Encouraged, he peered closer at the first bottle, deciphering Snape's narrow, angular script: " _Cruor Draco..."_ something.

 _Whoa! He sucks Malfoy's blood!?_ At that thought, Harry felt squirmy and twitchy and deeply uncomfortable. _If he sucks Malfoy's, does he ever suck anyone else?_ Harry gulped and his face grew hot just thinking about it. _What if he sneaks into the dorms at night, bends over the beds, bares his secret set of fangs, and bites someone! Right on the neck!_ Harry swallowed at the image of Snape, bending over Harry's bed: the mouth that Harry had seen hard and sneering a hundred times, pressed hotly against Harry's throat. Now that he'd imagined such thing in detail, Harry's clothes felt sweaty, too tight. He pulled at his tie to loosen it and stared warily at the looming shelves.

He paused for a second and then shuddered certain and utter disgust for even thinking it and raised his collar, adjusting his tie tighter than before. Dubious protection was better than none.

But then Harry surfaced from his thoughts, blinking at the rest of the bottles of reddish liquid on that shelf. There were over a dozen of them, all fairly large, and now Harry saw that they all had the same label: " _Cruor Draconis."_ _Surely that's more blood than even a vampire could wring out of that pasty little ferret!_

Then Harry noticed other, smaller notes at the bottom edge of each label. " _Chinese Fireball"_... " _Swedish Short-Snout"_... and yes, there it was: " _Hungarian Horntail"_. Harry grimaced at the memory. _Nasty bugger, loads worse than Draco. I can't picture even Snape taking on a real dragon singlehanded._

 _This is mental,_ Harry sighed, _I'd have to catch him in the act, sucking someone's blood up close, before I could tell if he's the vampire sort of bat rather than the Animagus sort. How can I possibly find out for sure what he is, without him catching on? And then I'd be his next meal, vampire, Animagus or no. Sod it, I'm off out of this._

Harry turned back to the door, just in time to see the last whip-thin tail of the doorknob serpent oozing through the keyhole to the other side.

"Hey, wait!" he called out. "You've got to let me out!"

The very end of the last snake's tail wiggled through the keyhole with a final, cheeky flip, teasingly waving goodbye, before disappearing completely, with a very damning click of a lock. Even the keyhole winked out of existence after it.

"Oi! Come back! Alohomora!" He whipped out his wand and poked at the completely flat surface, which just a minute before was a perfectly serviceable door. _Trapped._ "Bloody sneaks! Never were going help me in the first place!"

 _I've got to get out! If Snape catches me lurking here it's detention for sure! Wait, I mustn't panic. I have time. It's still early. They won't expect me back 'til at least midnight._ Harry strolled through the aisles trying to find another way out of the room.

There weren't many options. Just a few boxes in the corner that didn't uncover any hidden entrances. No portraits hanging on the walls that may have offered help. There was a narrow spiral staircase leading up to what seemed like top shelves and more storage space up at the ceiling. Harry climbed it and poked at the door left ajar. _Cupboards. Ugh._ He stuck his head in. The place seemed empty.

"Huh _." Lumos!_ He looked around.

 _Looks bigger than a cupboard, looks like... A crawlspace._ He could fit all the way inside, and even move forward, even though the space was pretty narrow at the shoulders. Harry kept crawling. Climbing.

He turned a corner, wondering where it led and suddenly - _WHOA! -_ with a stomach-churning whoosh, he discovered himself tumbling out of a broom closet in a castle tower he'd never been inside before, no matter how many times he'd seen its rooftop as he chased after Hedwig.

 _This goes all the way up to the top. Huh. It didn't take me long to crawl, and it didn't feel like I moved up any higher than a flight of stairs. Must be charmed._

 _Wicked!_

The wind whistled past him in the stairwell, cold and sharp and loud in the narrow space. Finally, he paused at the top of the stairs, in the doorway leading out onto the roof. This tower's conical roof peak was ringed with a parapet that offered views of the Quidditch pitch on one side and the lake on the other. The stairway and the roof exit turned out to be big enough not just for a perching owl, but also for a scrawny student.

 _Whew, probably safe now._

Harry took the Invisibility Cloak off and stowed it safely in an inside pocket. Then he climbed out onto the narrow curving walkway of the parapet, out into the howl and rush of the storm.

Gusts of wind rattled loose slates on the roof. It wasn't raining, not quite yet, but it soon would: the air was already humid, rich with the earthy, mineral scent of rain.

 _'It was a dark and stormy night.'_ Harry snorted at the sudden thought, _But really, it is. Lightning and thunder and everything._ Harry leaned back against the slanting peak of the roof and gazed up, losing himself in the boil of thunderclouds, the eyeblink flicker of purple lightning and the distant grumble of thunder.

A flock of small gargoyles studded the parapet, crouched atop each one of the huge stone blocks. The delicately sculpted stone imps had faces like cats or dogs, wings like dragonets or pigeons. They fluttered and shifted, restless in the storm. Several stretched their wings and leapt off into the sky as Harry drew nearer. Harry leaned on the now-empty parapet and watched the gargoyles circle and wheel, grey stone buffeted amid grey clouds, whirling at the whim of the wind, like drifts of autumn leaves. And then a dark thundercloud scudded by and a shadow detached from it, drifting slowly downward, as smoothly as if the storm was calm skies. It grew closer, larger, darker, spreading like vast, gliding wings...

 _A dementor! Right here in the castle!_ Harry took a step back from the parapet and drew his wand, getting ready to cast his Patronus before the inevitable feeling of doom overcame him. Around him all was darkness, as a scrap of lowering cloud raced by the turret. And... no doom. _Wait. Where'd it go?_

Harry was alone. As the cloud lifted, he saw that even the gargoyles had almost all gone. Only the largest and darkest was left to tower behind his back.

"Potter." Except it wasn't a gargoyle. It wasn't even a dementor. It was something much worse.

 _Snape!_

 _Oh_ _ **fuck**_ _!_ Harry froze. _My Patronus is no good against him. Cloak! No. Too late, he's already seen me._

Dark beady eyes trained on him as if Harry was a convenient ingredient ripe for harvesting. "Do explain precisely what you were doing. In my private ingredients storeroom," Snape's icy voice rose steadily, "Two hours past the curfew," until it crescendoed in three words delivered like punches, "Without. My. Permission!" Snape paused for effect.

 _Bloody hell, he's in a mood today_ , Harry thought. Just then, thunder rumbled, as if even the storm didn't dare miss a cue given to it by Snape. By that time Snape was in a vulturelike half-crouch, bringing his beaky head down so that he was almost Nose-to-nose with Harry. "Stealing, perhaps?" Snape hissed venomously.

 _Shit, he_ _ **knows**_ _! I'm doomed!_ Harry shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold of the wind and the first stinging raindrops."I didn't steal anything!" he said in a voice which sounded small against the dangerous weather and much more dangerous Snape.

"I know you didn't actually _succeed_ in stealing anything," Snape declared haughtily, "since you are still in possession of all ten fingers."

Harry winced. _Paranoid git probably has a hex that goes off every time someone as much as fondles a stray jar_. _I reckon I was lucky to get out of there in one piece._

"I expected a nasty stutter, at least," Snape continued with a wicked smirk. "That would have been caused by a committed decision to steal. Graffiti would have been rewarded by boils, and breakages would have earned you a rather unfortunate infestation of doxies in your drawers. But luckily for you, apparently that much malice would require a level of premeditation which is beyond you." Snape's mouth twisted. "Pity. Not that it'll stop me from taking points."

"I really didn't mean any harm!" Harry repeated desperately. "I didn't even touch anything." _Except the blood, and the brain. And the doorknob._ _Sneaky sods, they're the ones that got me in trouble._

Snape's eyes glistened, fixed on Harry as if he was some sort of ingredient for examination.

"Fifty points -" he said, final as a death toll. He gave an exasperated sigh to fill the pause. "As for lying to me just now, Potter, such an act of blatant disobedience warrants detention for the rest of the week."

"But... !" Harry protested, trying to slow down his thoughts and not to think any more at all, not about the room full of ingredients, and not about all the ways Snape looked like a dirty great bat and certainly not about Seamus and Dean's suspicions of him being a vampire or an Animagus or a _\- Stop it!_

"Sunday, six o'clock." Ever so slowly Snape's stare dulled as his eyes narrowed. "Get out," he commanded, with a flick of his wand.

Harry's lips were pressed together, his hands pressed tightly into fists, he blew at his wind-tossed fringe, exhaling angrily and turned on his heel. _They set me up, those snakes,_ he thought, furious. _And Snape probably trained them to do just that._

It was only on the way to the tower staircase, once the fog of blood-boiling rage at the unfairness cleared a bit, that Harry recalled a curious thing. _There was only one way to get to that tower, the staircase, and I climbed up it and it was empty. So where did Snape come from? It's not like he flew in like some dirty great gargoyle._

 _Ha, anyone knows wizards can't fly without a broom._ Harry dismissed the thought. _I doubt Snape can fly with one! His nose would throw the entire broom out of balance._

"Um, Professor?"

"What part of 'get out' is unclear, Potter?"

"What are you doing up on the roof?"

Snape's eyes narrowed, in a vicious, particularly menacing way. "One must ask the same of you, what were you doing, Potter? Sneaking. Certainly up to... something."

"I wasn't sneaking!"

"Don't. Lie. To me." Black eyes bore into Harry's.

 _I don't have to tell him anything, I really don't, but then he'll just pry it out of my thoughts anyway. He's already staring at me like he's reading them! Besides, telling the truth is the best I can do, if only just to piss the suspicious sod off more._

"I just needed to check if you were a bat."

"A bat." Snape's eyebrow rose like a singular gargoyle wing over his dark and utterly-unimpressed stare.

 _No wonder._ Out of all the things Harry could've said, that was probably the least expected and the least sane. Hopefully that alone would prove to Snape that Harry wasn't just making things up. "A bat Animagus," Harry confirmed with all the sincerity he could muster in his tone. "It was either that or a vampire."

Snape's cough sounded suspiciously like a snort.

"I know, bloody ridiculous, right," Harry declared. "But I needed proof. To, you know, prove them _wrong_. And I had to find that proof somewhere, so I went to check for bat droppings or blood. And you had both but it was all labelled and tucked away unused on the shelves. That's when I realised how stupid it was to suspect you of either of those things. But the bloody snakes didn't believe me and locked me in. So then I came up and then you _flew in_ , without a broom or anything!"

"Ridiculous!" Snape sneered, significantly less angry than Harry thought he'd be. "You said it yourself, Potter," he grumbled dismissively as he held out his hands, open and empty. "No broom. How could I possibly have flown?"

"Well, you weren't on the parapet. You didn't come up the stairs..." _I saw a shadow and it certainly wasn't a gargoyle. How else could he have got here?_ "And I saw you fly in," Harry concluded.

"Don't be absurd!" Snape snarled, showing teeth, sharp as a shark's, "And don't even bother spreading wild rumours about me."

"I don't spread rumours!" _Just who does he think I am? Malfoy? Besides, everyone else is doing a damn good job of spreading rumours about him, just as much as the rumours about me. All I've done so far is proved them wrong._

"And you won't start by spreading them about me," Snape announced, quiet and final. "Everyone knows it's not possible to fly, not without a broom or a flying carpet, neither of which I happen to own. Nobody will believe you."

Harry blinked. Here he'd thought that Snape would be worried about his reputation as vampire or unregistered Animagus, when what he was actually worried about was Harry telling everyone about catching him out flying. Flying unaided was certainly impossible: not even improbable like talking to snakes, but no-one's-EVER-done-it impossible. If it had been done before, Harry's Quidditch magazines would surely have had front page articles on it the next day.

 _It must be a trick._

"So how did you _do_ it?" Harry asked. He had to know. "Hogwarts' magic or is it your own? Some sort of Leviosa on the entire balcony?"

Snape sneered. "Enough. Save that enthusiasm of yours for detention. Is. That. Clear?" One bony arm extended, clearly pointing out the only exit.

Harry gulped, and, at last, exited through the doorway, while he still could.

* * *

It didn't take Seamus and Dean long to corner Harry for answers the next morning.

"Well?" said Dean, looking at Harry expectantly.

"Well?" Harry lifted his eyebrow as he put his glasses on first thing.

"You've been gone a long time," Seamus chimed in. "So?"

"So," Harry said. "Um. About that. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"What? Hell yeah!"

"Cause, well, you know how sometimes you really wish you knew something and when you do know it turns out maybe not what you wanted to hear and..."

"Well speak up already!" Seamus cried.

Dean chimed in, "Is he a vampire? An Animagus?"

"Mmm, at first I thought he could be both, really. Then after looking some more, I can't be sure..."

"Both? Wicked!"

"I mean, he's got a bat nest in his stores, and bottles of blood too, several dozen of them..."

"Bloody hell, that'd keep him going for days!" said Seamus.

"Well, at least that proves that Malfoy is a liar," said Dean. "That's a relief."

"Actually I dunno," Harry shrugged. "Malfoy could be right too. Beater's bat or not, you never know unless you go checking for yourself."

Both Seamus and Dean stared at him and blinked.

"Ew," said Seamus.

"Ugh," said Dean.

"And I'm definitely not checking _that_ for you on a bet," Harry said. "And anyway, I can't now. I've got detention with him tonight."

"Detention?" Seamus and Dean both looked at each other and grinned simultaneously. "Oh, this is perfect!"

"What's perfect? Detention with Snape is a pain in the arse if you ask me."

"No, Harry, don't you see, detention is the perfect time to find him out!"

"What?" Harry blinked. "Oh... No. Not a chance! I can't. Seriously."

"No, Harry, you have to. Just spy on him a bit. Check things out. And who knows, maybe he'll even try to bite you and we'll know for sure." Dean gave Harry a manly slap on the shoulder. "Take one for the team, will you, mate. You've gone this far."

"Yeah right!" Harry scoffed. " I am still using all my blood, I don't need it to end up in a jar on Snape's shelves. I really don't."

* * *

There were plenty of dubious jars on Snape's shelves that Harry could count, but as far as he could tell none of them were labelled 'Harry Potter' and he wanted to keep it that way.

Detention with Snape was actually rather boring. Probably by design. Snape wasn't around or watching, and Harry had to entertain himself somehow. It was either that or keep sorting all the dead beetles by size into several disgusting piles.

"Snape?" he called out, but all was quiet and Snape must've been busy over the next round of ingredients. So Harry shoved down all remaining common sense and headed for that familiar crawlspace which he knew led all the way up to the tower.

 _"Perfect time to find out…"_

 _"Just spy on him for a bit…"_

 _Yeah, no way that'll end well._

 _But what if it does? I'm already punished. The last thing he'll suspect me doing is going back up on that tower._

Having made up his mind, Harry got on all fours and quickly climbed into the crawlspace, making his way up. Halfway through it, he started to hear and smell the storm. The broom closet's door must've been ajar. He knew he reached his destination when the breeze ruffled his robe and the icy rain took his breath away.

Harry covered his face to shield his glasses from getting too wet and continued on.

 _I need to check it out to see if there's an enchantment. Besides, if that's what he did, then I reckon I could do it too._ Harry grabbed the nearest block of the parapet and clambered up to sit on it. The swirling wind buffeted him, making him lightheaded. _Maybe the entire ledge is enchanted._ _Maybe if I jump off I'll get lighter all over and the wind will carry me._ He looked down over the edge, contemplating just how far he was willing to test that theory. He stuck his hand out but it felt exactly the same, heavy, cold: just the raindrops drumming against the back of his hand, just the wind blowing November's chill up his sleeve.

 _That's a long way down._ From the advantage of such height, Hogwarts' courtyard looked small, covered with splatters of fallen leaves, dotted with spongy evergreens and surrounded by toy-like arches. The rooftops all around him, which usually served as a perching space for the birds, were bare and washed clean, glistening with icy water.

"Potter!" Out of nowhere, Snape cried, grabbing for Harry's extended arm, "Come down from there this instant!"

"Oi, it's not like I'm planning to _jump_ off!" Harry squirmed as his ear was twisted in a hard grip of bony fingers and released, causing the blood to rush to his face.

"No? Well, you can still _fall_ , you reckless little sod!"

Harry peered over the edge again. "I might," he agreed, testing his luck, emboldened by the adrenalin rush of standing on the ledge this tall and facing down Snape towering over him at the same time. He didn't know exactly which part made his heart beat so fast. "If you went up in the air once, you can do it again and catch me."

"Nonsense." Snape spat. "How many times do I need to tell you, I wasn't 'up in the air'. And even if I were, which I wasn't, I certainly wouldn't be seen fluttering about like an oversized gargoyle."

"But -" _Is that what he really thinks of flying?_ Harry blinked, "- why _not_?"

Snape's eyebrow arched. "'Why not'? How many reasons do you need."

"You must know how flying really is! It's what everyone wants!" _It's what I wanted._ "Everyone has dreams like that, when you fly without a broom, don't they? I did, even before I learned about magic." Snape must have had the same dreams. Everyone in the world had flying dreams, and if there was even the slightest chance of Snape doing something everyone else could only dream of... well, it didn't even matter that it was _Snape_. Harry felt on the verge of discovering something wonderful, like opening your eyes seeing Viktor Krum and the entire field of Quidditch teams practice in person. Only this was so much better! For the first time Snape wasn't at all like a dungeon-dwelling potions master but someone amazing. Someone who could _fly_! "Please tell me it's possible, it has to be! Just has to."

Snape stared at him, his glare dark and uncertain, as if he was truly surprised by Harry's words. His bony grip steered Harry from the ledge and then let go, as Snape too stepped back. "It's extremely difficult to do." he spat at last. "It takes tremendous power and focus." He grimaced bitterly, and shook his head. "With my luck, I'd be held responsible for all the idiots who'd undoubtedly fall to their deaths trying it. Including you."

Harry mounted a grumpy gargoyle just to prove he wasn't falling-prone. "So it is possible. How? Is it some sort of secret spell?"

Snape grumbled. "Wordless, wandless, and definitely not for your ears, Potter." He cast Harry a sceptical look.

"If it's so difficult and dangerous, you must need help testing it. Help from someone who is already a good flier. And I'm great at flying, just ask anyone." From the back of Harry's mind rose an image of Draco Malfoy being offered the knowledge, the opportunity. _Poncy git won't even appreciate it like I will._

Snape sneered. "Oh yes, that sounds like a _wonderful_ idea. Encourage the one person who's supposed to kill the Dark Lord, to run ridiculous risks with his life."

"Oh, you never know," Harry deadpanned. "Maybe I can outfly him and then kill him from the air." _Wouldn't that be something? I wish killing Voldemort was as easy as outmaneuvering a Hungarian Horntail._

Snape arched a dubious, but perhaps considering, eyebrow - and went carefully blank-faced as soon as he noticed Harry staring. He muttered something unpleasant under his breath.

Harry inched closer down the gargoyle's outstretched wing, like a bird on a windy perch. "Who taught you to fly like that?" _Bloody brilliant invention, that, even if it does leave brooms out._ "Was it here at Hogwarts?"

What Snape did next should have been more of shock to Harry, after all, he didn't hiss out insults, or dock points, or assign a gazillion nights of detention for having the gall to ask questions.

Instead, Snape sighed and took a step toward the ledge, arms crossed over his chest, looking like a grumpy gargoyle, cloak streaming behind him like wings. "A friend gave me the idea once," he muttered morosely. "We grew up in the same town, she and I. When we were both quite young - before we got our Hogwarts letters - she used to jump off the swing, and take a bit longer to land than she should." His voice was barely louder than the storm.

Harry stood close, listening. Nodding. He didn't know Snape had friends. Or that he was friends with a girl. But apparently, storms brought forth true revelations.

Snape murmured something quietly, not quite turning to Harry. It was a name perhaps. Or that's what Harry thought he said. It was impossible to make out. Maybe it was just the wind.

Snape's seeking stare suddenly warmed up, a smirk appeared in the corners of his mouth. "It wasn't quite flying, what she did. She just... hung in mid-air a bit too long, landed a bit too late. But it was enough to inspire me."

He gave Harry a meaningful stare, which was all kinds of puzzling. As if Harry had something to do with that memory, or if he expected Harry to answer. It was clear that the memory held some kind of significance to Snape. It was unclear why he chose to share something significant from his childhood with Harry but Harry wasn't about to complain. Especially if the alternative meant polishing stacks of cauldrons in detention.

"Now if you're done risking your neck for no reason, Potter," Snape gestured toward the crawlspace. "I changed my mind, the remainder of your detention tonight will be spent dispensing pickled bat brains into individual jars. The first-years need their ingredients tomorrow."

 _Ugh. It was good while it lasted._ Harry winced and made a face. _Just as I thought he was all right, he has to follow it up with something nasty._

He cast a mournful stare at the staircase behind him. _Pickled bat brains. The brine alone stinks like a bog. But then there are all those squishy bits. Ew!_

The dungeons had a terrible chill this time of evening, the flames of green-coloured sconces flared up as soon as Harry reached them and flickered out right after he passed by. He'd taken the staircase down right by Professor Merrythought's office, and the corridor there stayed brightly lit at all times. Someone must've spent ages charming every single sconce to react to passersby. Was it Snape's decision to conserve resources? Harry much preferred the lighting above ground.

The last flight of stairs. Harry descended swiftly, and as he came down at the final stretch of the staircase, he'd made an effort to take a leap at the last step, _one, two…_ landing on the stone floor at least a heartbeat later than he should.

 _'Wasn't quite flying, what she did. She just… hung in mid-air a bit too long, landed a bit too late.'_

… _that was my mother. Snape never told me it was my mum. Not until..._

Harry looked down at the stone floor at his feet. At the dungeon corridor stretching before him. _Not until the very end, when he let out his memories, hoping we'd take them and see everything he'd done. A dying confession spilled at Harry's feet._

 _"Take… it. … Take… it. …"_ Snape was looking at Harry as he rasped that, bleeding, leaking more than blood but the silvery smoke of everything his mind contained. Everything he wanted Harry to preserve.

In return, Harry never did tell a soul about his deepest regret concerning Severus Snape, just as he never told anyone what he really saw that Halloween night on the rooftop of the castle. He figured no one would believe him even if things did happen the way he saw them, as Snape went to significant effort to deny.

In any case, as far as flying went, it's been two years and one wizarding war ago, and the only person who could confirm what really happened that night, wouldn't admit to anything if Harry asked him. Which brought Harry to his regret: with so many of Snape's memories spilled on the Shrieking Shack floor, slipping through the cracks uncaught, never to be captured or bottled or returned to their owner, Harry sometimes wondered if Snape even remembered that Harry saw him land in that tower. That Harry saw him fly.

Harry remembered. Every time he took these stairs down alone, he'd made an effort to take a leap at the last step. Thinking back on Snape's memory of Harry's mum. Learning this was a way to honour her, as well as honour Snape's sacrifice. Now that Harry learned just how much of a complete bastard Snape really wasn't, Harry had a dream for quite awhile now. A goal besides living long enough to kill Voldemort - he'd done that already. And so, one day, he wanted to fly. The way he saw Snape fly once. Dangerous or not, difficult or not, it was something worth doing.

Harry knocked on the door of Snape's classroom. Just ten minutes ago, he stepped in front of a firstie, as Headmistress McGonagall looked for someone to run an errand to the Dungeons. A Gryffindor first-year had no business spending their time in the Slytherin lair, as far as Harry was concerned, so Harry volunteered instead.

"Er, hello?"

Snape, in the corner by the fire, spun around dramatically, his robes flaring with the movement of his elbows. "Is there a reason for this interruption, Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Headmistress McGonagall sent me to tell Dean she's ready for that apology."

In the corner, buried under stacks of slimy jars, and retorts, and phials, Dean let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Harry. At last!"

Snape's lip curled. "You are excused, Thomas. Potter, take over."

"Hey!"

"Are you deaf?" Snape's tone was quietly seething. If it wasn't for the hoarseness in his voice now and then, Harry couldn't have told he had a severe injury to the neck last summer. "Quickly now. Use plenty of soap. The water needs to be scorching hot! I trust you haven't forgotten how to cast an ordinary Heating Spell?"

"Sorry, mate!" Dean rushed out, giving Harry a mournful stare before he disappeared through the doorway. Harry counted his echoing footsteps as the corridor grew quiet once more. He picked up a cleaning brush and drew his finger over the bristles. As instructed, he dunked another slimy jar into the steaming bowl of soapy water and set to scrubbing the jar's insides.

The room grew quiet and at once, Harry couldn't stand not telling Snape this one thing.

"You don't have to snap at me, you know. If you want help with the cleanup, just ask."

Snape's head lifted from the stack of papers. His eyes narrowed. For a second he seemed like he was about to say something particularly nasty. "I thought I just did."

"Oh." Harry picked up the soapy sponge. "'Course." _If this was Snape's idea of asking for a hand with chores, I don't ever want to see him in need of serious help!_

The image of the Shrieking Shack rose to his mind. _'Look at me.'_

He gulped and took a cautious breath. The soap was scentless but the steam from the water reminded him of the Prefects' bath. A more calming thought than the Shrieking Shack, that's for sure.

"Something happened to me today," Harry found himself confessing. "I jumped over the last two steps of the staircase on the way here. Landed late. Two seconds late. Like… well, you know." Somehow it was important that Snape heard this. The memory of mum landing on the ground just a second too late was in a white phial that was the very first thing Harry gave Snape back as he gained consciousness in St. Mungo's. Snape bloody well had that memory. He had to know how important this was. To both of them.

Snape's head lifted from rolls of homework now peppered with red ink. "A multitude of other hopeless acts aside, why do you always insist on these asinine attempts to break your own neck?" he inquired. "I should stop being surprised by now."

"Because…" Harry shrugged, carrying on stubbornly. "It's important to me. It was important to you once! Don't pretend it's bloody not."

"Language, Potter."

Harry reached for another jar. "Aren't you curious, just a little bit?"

"At the moment, I'm asking myself exactly why I'm allowing you to waste my time." A thick book in Snape's hands snapped closed like a heavy door shutting. It was quite clear Harry wasn't welcome to continue.

"I… uh… nevermind. So how was class today? Good?" It may have been a stupid thing to ask a teacher in detention, but this was Snape, Snape whose life and freedom Harry had argued for in front of Wizengamot. Snape, whose Patronus was a doe. Didn't matching Patronuses, at least, warrant some kind of special camaraderie?

Silence passed, heavy, measured by a ticking of a clock in the corner. Just as Harry gave up on getting an answer, Snape said "Acceptable."

Harry bit his lip. _The stubborn sod never used to admit to any weakness. Can't see why he'd start now._

"Um, that's great." Harry bit his tongue because what he really wanted to do was shout. _I just told you I_ flew _, you stubborn son of a bitch! Why can't you be happy for me?_ _You flew once too! I saw you fly, you impossible bastard! And now you're avoiding me and snapping back right and left and I can't tell if it's just you being you, or you actually don't remember a single moment of it._

The soapy steam in the large bowl was white, spreading like Snape's memories over the Shrieking Shack floor. Try as Harry might, he wasn't able to coax all of it back into any sort of container any more than he and Hermione did the first time around. When it really counted.

What did those lost memories hold as they disappeared through the cracks between the planks? Were they of Snape's childhood? Of the Half-Blood Prince's inventions? Or were they more recent? Of Harry, perhaps. Harry could help with those! He still remembered those conversations, he could share his recollection of them. Pensieve, Legilimency. Anything Snape wanted. Snape only had to ask.

But Snape, the stubborn git, refused to admit anything at all was wrong. Soldiering on through lecture after lecture, and smoothing over the most awkward of whatever gaps his memory held with the ease of a practised spy. With the amount of pretence the sly sod went through every day, Harry had no idea how bad the damage was. The damage Harry had contributed to.

The damage he wasn't given a chance to undo, all thanks to Snape being a stubborn sod about it all.

"Did you say something, Potter?"

Harry sighed, turning his attention to his work. "Forget it."


	3. Valor

**Valor**

Potter's footsteps just died in the corridor, and his absence in the room was as confusing as his presence had been. Severus dismissed the sensation as an annoyance, refusing to examine it further. There was still work to do.

There was always work to do at Hogwarts.

He finished the last round of the storerooms before locking up for the night. Inside this particular one, he measured the distance with his steps (seventeen and a half, then turn) as always. To the left were the shelves filled with dried herbs, some as fragrant as spices, others spattered with scentless seeds never to germinate again. To the right was a crawlspace charmed to take him up to one of the towers: a frivolous use of complicated charms just for collecting fresh rainwater during storms, but he could understand the appeal.

Behind him was a conjured writing desk with a stack of marked papers waiting to be returned tomorrow during class. What with all the detentions, he hadn't had a chance to mark the papers in the privacy of his own office, so the desk followed him. The red ink speckling the top pages was a harbinger of doom and disappointment to a gaggle of fifth years who'd had the nerve not to pay attention during the lecture.

Before him, Potter left soap suds, disarray, and - in contrast with the usual chaos - three neat rows of upturned phials on the drying rack.

 _Potter again_.

Potter was a mystery to which, try as he might to wrack his brain, Severus had no answers. He tried anyway, directing his mind back to the time before the war, to the Headmaster's office, where plans of countless atrocities began and ended over an offer of tea.

* * *

 _'The boy must die.'_ Dumbledore's words, the words of one dying man, were a death knell calling for another. For once, Severus was thankful to be sitting down.

 _I thought…all those years…that we were protecting him for her. For Lily._

 _I was wrong,_ Severus thought then, stunned not by surprise but by the sheer cruelty of Dumbledore's plan. _I protected the boy for Lily, I dedicated my life to protect her son, while Dumbledore groomed a pig to slaughter. I should have known. When did the meddling sod ever do something as guileless as saving a life purely for its own sake?_ He listened and the scheme unfolding before him almost left him retching. He wished he was at a Death Eaters' escapade, even though watching them Crucio their prey would have caused just as much bile to rise to his throat. _Was Lily's life strategised, planned as an acceptable sacrifice, as an affordable war casualty, with similar callousness in this very room? And now, years later, absolutely nothing has changed and 'the boy must die'!_

"You have kept him _alive_ so that he can _die_ at the right moment?" Just when he'd convinced himself that Dumbledore had come to care for the boy, Dumbledore once again had shown his true nature. It was sickening. _He used me, just as he is using all of us. The boy is merely another pawn in the great game. If only more of the world had known the terrible truth: Slytherins are not the only blight on humanity, the Dumbledores of this world have an equal claim to that title._ Severus shoved that thought aside, down deep, deeper under the ever-present cover of Occlumency."I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily's son safe."

As always, Dumbledore's stare was bright, his mind impenetrable. As always, he was trying to pry, not quite to read Severus' thoughts, but definitely his mood. "But this is touching, Severus." _Touching? Hardly._ "Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?"

"For him?" Severus bit his lip to stop it from curling. _How dare he?_ How could one respond to a strategising madman once again mocking his motivations by reducing all that Severus lived for to idle gossip? _Has he forgotten how I surrendered myself to his protection? His control. His rule. Has he forgotten how ...No. Dumbledore never forgets._ He shrugged off the prying insinuations of reconciliation and happy endings, and instead he used the very thought of the boy, Lily's son, for a better purpose. He gripped his wand and drew it, and then he took all his fury, all his grief, all his determination and all of his memories: of her - one bright shining spark of childhood joy - and of the empty adulthood years that followed; and used them all to remind himself that something of Lily survived Voldemort. _Something. Survived!_

 _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Silver smoke trailed from his wand and from within that smoke, like a dream from a Pensieve, like one hopeful thread of thought, sprung the doe. Always and forever, she was a constant reminder of what truly mattered. Severus' humanity, his soul, his past laid bare in a breath of magic. The last trace of Lily left on this earth. The doe lunged forth. One of the truest proofs left of why his life was worth living. Many years ago, on the day of terrible loss, something else of hers survived. As long as Harry Potter lived, Severus swore he would not let that remainder of Lily perish. That he would not send her son to his death. He swore Harry Potter would live. No matter what Dumbledore's 'infinite wisdom' decreed. Not if Severus could help it.

In that stark, terrible moment of truth in Headmaster's office, it stood clear to Severus that he was the boy's only true protector.

There was no one else. Not with Dumbledore planning Potter's death as coldly as he planned his own. Unless Severus acted to prevent it, Potter would die.

The doe chose its trail in the corners of the Headmaster's office and then left, undeterred by wards or by words or by Vows. It bounded free, flew away, the way Severus never could. The way Potter should have had a chance to leave, but never would unless Severus intervened on his behalf.

"After all this time?" Dumbledore asked. He was tearing up, but no tears - even Phoenix Tears - could save the old fool now. They'd both seen enough death to know Dumbledore was a dead man walking.

"Always." _For Lily._

There was nothing else left to say. So Severus walked away and left their conversation at that. He had potions to brew, and murder to plan; the Headmaster needed to be kept alive until the right moment until he gave the final word. Severus was ready. In Dumbledore's eyes, it was the purpose of his existence: a pawn on the Headmaster's grand chessboard of plans, and it was why he'd been allowed to live this long, under careful control. The game continued until, when the time came, he struck the final blow as he was instructed.

* * *

Dumbledore had long been gone from Hogwarts, succeeded first by Severus and then by Minerva McGonagall. But Potter, hardly a boy any longer, the Man Who Lived, was right here. He walked these halls and strolled in and out of Severus' dungeons. His cheerful tone echoed under the high ceilings and worried at parts of Severus' soul he thought were dead long ago. And all throughout, Dumbledore's words echoed in Snape's mind still.

 _Have I grown to care for the boy, after all?_

Severus caught himself staring at the three even rows of phials, scrubbed clean and left to dry. Steam still rose from the charmed bowl of water. Soap suds swirled slowly in the centre of the bowl, like a Pensieve waiting to be filled.

 _I… have. I know I have because I felt it as soon as I awoke in St Mungo's._ It was no longer useful to deny something so obvious, so damning, to himself. Not when he had a more pressing question to ask.

 _How?_

 _When did it happen? I can't explain it! I can't recall any of it! I know what I feel now, but not what caused my emotions to change._

Somewhere between Dumbledore questioning Severus, and the moment Severus awoke in a small room at the hospital, and was informed that Dumbledore's cause was victorious at last, his… attitude toward Harry Potter had clearly transformed. Figuring out why was as frustrating as staring at old notes, in a hand that was unmistakably his own, describing spells that were clearly unfamiliar. As infuriating as the knowledge that there were moments as important as the vision of silver doe in Dumbledore's office, which no longer existed at all. Not even in Severus' memory.

He'd gone to the Shrieking Shack, the first week he'd been allowed back at Hogwarts, to examine the exact spot where he'd almost died, to see if there was anything left. There was nothing, not a strand, not a sliver of silvery smoke. He expected nothing else. Too much time had passed and whatever spilled here once, cast out willingly from his injured body in a final act of surrender, was long gone.

That loss left him adrift. All he could do was to keep quiet and avoid Potter: it would not be long until the lad left Hogwarts for good.

* * *

"Well, Mr. Thomas?" Headmistress McGonagall stared at the unfortunate student through antique specs sitting low on her nose. "Are you ready to apologise?"

Dean Thomas shuffled from foot to foot in the doorway, looking sufficiently mournful. Everyone in a similar situation of being called up here always was, at this point. Headmistress McGonagall sat up taller in her seat and busied herself with rearranging her daily notes on her desk.

Behind her, Dumbledore's portrait let out a brief cough. _I do hope Albus won't interfere this time and try to talk me out of assigning detention. It's time for his nap._

But oh, the situation was comical enough to make a fine tale to tell Rosmerta over a pint next Sunday. The look on poor Dean's face! And Seamus Finnigan had scrambled to send not one but two apology letters the next day. He was a cat owner these days, he wrote, a fine tabby and the best mouser in the entire neighbourhood.

She bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn't allowed to laugh about it. Not yet. "Proceed."

"I'm so, so sorry, Headmistress. It's kind of a funny story actually. Happened on Halloween, two years ago. Me and my mates were joking about Snape turning into a bat. It got out of control." Dean scratched the back of his head, meeting her stare and pouting. "I shouldn't've said what I said. It wasn't right."

Headmistress McGonagall pursed her lips and spent a significant pause restacking miscellaneous bundles of papers on her desk. She waited until Dean began to fidget.

"Mr. Thomas, do you know why I gave you detention?"

His boot toed the ground. "Uh-huh."

 _So, clearly, he had no clue._ "As the eldest at this school, you ought to be setting an example for the lower-years, who, I might say, look up to you. You cannot serve as a leader if you insist on acting in a manner that befits a ten-year-old, not a Hogwarts alumnus."

Dean picked at the sleeve of his robe, twisting a loose button. He was obviously too embarrassed to raise his eyes at her. "Headmistress, I am so, so sorry."

"And so you ought to be." Headmistress McGonagall allowed the corners of her mouth to curl upward. "If your future behaviour shows that you've grown above such childish jokes, I may consider your apology sincere."

"Um…"

"You are dismissed, for now."

"Headmistress?"

"You heard me, Mr. Thomas. Don't worry, your detention is over. I'll let Professor Snape know."

She waved him out the door, and sunk back into her chair, shaking the pins out of her hair and pinning it back up again in a simple bun. What she really wanted right now was to turn into a cat and curl up in a sunny spot on the nearest window ledge, but there was important work to do.

"Couldn't've handled it better myself," said Albus' portrait from his spot on the wall. Albus was painted a bit younger, her age: like he was when he first took up the Headmaster position.

Her own portrait would hang on the same wall one day, alongside Albus and Armando Dippet and Dilys Derwent. What would her portrait say to the next Headmistress or Headmaster sitting in her chair? She rubbed the bridge of her nose. This was neither the time or the place to think of a legacy. Legacies were best left for classrooms full of impressionable first years, or for board meetings where the right speech could decide decades of school policy.

"It's been a long day, Albus. I wish the rest of the conversations in my office were as easy as this."

He smiled and his painted eyes twinkled. "Speaking of uncomfortable conversations, how is Severus? Is he settling in?"

"He is well, considering."

"He hasn't come to see me yet. Not since the term started."

"Give him time. He's always been… a complicated man."

* * *

The first time Minerva learned of Severus Snape's survival and stay at St Mungo's, in the same place as Hogwarts students who'd been moved there, she reached for her wand, methodical and swift. "Where?" she snapped. _I'll put that murderer out of his misery myself._

"Wait!" Harry, of all people, cried out. "Don't. He's with us."

"What is going on?"

"Snape's on our side," Harry breathed, frantic. "I swear to it, Professor. I trust him, with my life if I have to. Please, I need your help."

"You're not making sense." Minerva frowned. "Explain yourself!"

"The Ministry, I barely convinced them not to take him to Azkaban until he's well enough to speak. I need your help proving that he's not a threat. Which he isn't! I've got his memories right here..."

"Memories? Ministry? You'd better start from the beginning, and don't leave out a single detail." _What is the matter with him?_ The lad did have a saving people thing but this was beyond reason. Not unlike Hagrid and his beasts, only this time the target of Harry's valiant rescue was far more dangerous than the worst Forbidden Forest dweller. _The boy is mad to even attempt it!_

She didn't change her mind on the matter until stepping into this very office and seeing Albus, in a gilded frame.

"Hello, Minerva," Albus greeted her. The bells in his beard let out a faint, festive ring.

She held her breath then. _Oh, Albus._

The very next thing he said barely registered to her. She heard the words but didn't see him speak them, because her eyes were full of tears.

"You have to help Severus."

"I…"

"You have to, Minerva! You and young Harry are his only hope of survival."

* * *

There were moments it seemed Albus hasn't changed a bit, grilling Minerva about Ministry gossip and school news, and those days she felt she was still a Deputy Headmistress under his watchful eye. He seemed so obviously in charge of Hogwarts, he always was.

Albus was still personally interested in every new student and had learned their names from the roster before they even Sorted. But there were also days he didn't answer Minerva, and instead napped peacefully in the painted chair in the corner of his portrait, his beaded slippers kicked off his feet and the mismatched woolen socks pulled up high over his ankles. One had stripes and the other a festive pattern; neither the magenta nor the fiery-orange one were to Minerva's tastes, but the splashes of colour in the painting did brighten up the office, each in its own peculiar way.

Only a saint would speak for their murderer's freedom. But Albus was not a saint, he was the greatest wizard of her time and her most cherished teacher. Even if these days he was a two-dimensional heap of robes and white hair immortalized by the strokes of a paintbrush on canvas.

Was it hopeless of her to hold onto that image like a security blanket, to enjoy the conversations with the portrait even though it was only a memento of a great man who was no longer with them? Well then, she was a Gryffindor, and once in a while, she dared herself to believe in hopeless causes.

Was this why she hadn't marched into Severus' room in St. Mungo's immediately and blasted the miserable sod through the wall when she had the chance?

Maybe it was the feline side of her, but she was genuinely curious to hear what Severus Snape had to say in his defence when two Wizarding war heroes had argued in his favour. What could he possibly say to redeem himself? In the end, it turned out, he didn't have to say a word. His protectors' words, Dumbledore's careful guidance, Harry Potter's innocent fervour, had already convinced her of the most important thing.

Severus Snape was not a monster, simply a man. A man who could still be redeemed.

* * *

When Minerva finally summoned the strength to see Severus in St Mungo's (having just been seen by a doctor herself for her ailing back) she found Harry Potter asleep in the chair by the door to the small, solitary room. Two Aurors flanked the entrance.

"Mr. Dawlish. Miss Smith," she addressed her former students. Harry stirred, bleary-eyed, and rubbed his face to wake up. "Mr. Potter. What are you doing here?"

Harry glanced at the door with a grumpy stare and sighed.

Minerva tilted her head peering into the doorway. "I take it you were evicted," she guessed. "He's awake then. Good."

Harry nodded and released another mournful sigh. He looked far too put out to be concerned about a teacher, but things between Severus and Harry had always been somewhat tense. Even if about two years back, Severus had abandoned his appalling habit of singling Harry out for docked points, or other kinds of punishment.

"He's in a right mood, but he's eating now, and the nurse says there's been progress made. He even tried to walk all the way out of here."

"I suspect you were the one who stopped him, Harry." Minerva regarded the frazzled lad on his chair, looking smaller, and skinnier than she recalled him being, world-weary and tired. "What's wrong?"

"It's difficult to explain, um…" Harry glanced at the two Aurors by the door and then, as if making a quick decision about something, steered her around the corner and cast Muffling Charms before continuing to speak.

"When he was injured in the Shrieking Shack, Professor Snape bled memories. I don't know how else to say it. They were a silvery mist and they spread, everywhere. We didn't know what they were then. We weren't quick enough to catch them. Just some. He's got those back but…"

"But?" Minerva asked. It was clear that Harry was troubled by this.

"What if he's lost forever things that were important to him - spells, brewing, people - all because I wasn't quick enough? Memories are who we are! What if he's lost himself for good?"

The war was over. The obituaries in the Daily Prophet had stretched to the second page. And yet, here Harry sat, worrying about the fate of a man all but doomed to spend the rest of his days in Azkaban. A hopeless cause indeed. Not that Minerva let it stop her. _What would Albus say?_ So she lifted her hand and placed it over Harry's shoulder. "Mr. Potter, he is alive because you, of all people, were quick enough. Because you cared enough to be there. First things first. Let's get him to his feet and keep him out of Azkaban, before assessing his further state." She smiled a rare smile, what with all the funerals she had to attend recently. "He remembers you, doesn't he?"

Harry's mouth widened in a smile, brief but genuine. "Yeah, he does." He rolled his eyes, reflecting what was left unsaid. Even for a long-time acquaintance, Severus wasn't the easiest person to get along with.

Minerva nodded. "Good. It'd be a shame to forget such a passionate advocate for one's freedom."

* * *

As Minerva returned to her office that day, she spent a long time with her hand against the paint of Albus' sleeping portrait. After some time, she could almost believe that the warmth from her hand had been there in the canvas all along.

"Minerva," he mumbled softly as he awoke. "I sleep so soundly knowing you've taken care of things."

Her throat seized. "Don't worry about a thing, Albus. You just rest."

For so long, Albus has been a steady presence, a rock. As indestructible as the foundations of Hogwarts itself. But those times were over and he was gone. All was left was a white tomb and a portrait to remember him by.

That portrait was her charge now, one of so many. The least she could do is to ensure his safety and comfort.

* * *

In a large room, chilly despite the fireplace in the corner, stood a narrow four-poster bed. The green rug beside it was a dubious comfort against the stone floors of the dungeon. The fireplace coal burnt dimly, casting a faint red glow over the dark room. A glass of water and a wand were the only things on the nightstand. Silver sheets concealed by a plain black coverlet piled up within. On the bed, lay a long-limbed man in a large grey nightshirt. He remained on one side, knees bent, one arm under the lumpy pillow, the other stretched at his side, a blur of grey over the black cover. Black hair spilled over the pillow, revealing the large curve of his ear. A sharp, hawkish nose pressed into the grey silk. Sallow skin wasn't quite so pallid in the firelight.

Although his eyes were closed, the rapid movement of his eyeballs beneath betrayed a frantic dream, perhaps a chase, perhaps a fight.

Even with the safety of Hogwarts' foundations around him, accepted back by the castle, at least as a Professor if no longer as Headmaster, Severus slept uneasily these days, as uneasy as a man with a lifetime of nightmares.

* * *

"Severus... Please..."

 _I can't. I have to. I must. Now!_ Severus' heartbeat was a sound of a pawn hitting a wooden board. Check and mate. "Avada Kedavra!"

Dumbledore fell like a rag doll. Like the king piece at the end of the match.

 _It's truly the end. It's done. What's next? While there are many whose orders I must still follow, at least I now have one less slavemaster._ The thought was a cold comfort.

Everything Severus used to be once, kept dying with each murder, as surely as if his soul was drained by a Dementor's devouring kiss. It was so dark, he couldn't imagine enough light left in him to call forth a Lumos ever again, much less his Patronus. The only bright spot was Draco, still at his side: his father's hair as bright in the gloom as Narcissa's pale stare. It must have been his fate to safeguard boys who stared expectantly up at him out of their mothers' eyes. Severus shook his head. _Irrelevant._

"Get out! Now!" _One student may still be saved_. Even as Severus' soul was damned further into oblivion. Severus had to see Draco out of here, safe, still as much of an innocent as this night might have allowed. _Or I will have made yet another meaningless sacrifice._

With the Headmaster dead, there was nothing left for him at the castle.

They fled.

Although Hogwarts' grounds were as dark as if they descend into a sea of Dementors, he dared not cast a Patronus: there were too many eyes to see, from behind Death Eater masks. It was of no matter. He still had other ways to deal with Dementors: ways that required neither endorsement of the Light nor permission. He might need them still to get them out of here in one piece.

They sprinted to the gates, his ears full of pounding: the hammering of his heart, the snap of his cloak and robes in the wind of his speed, the thud of Draco's footfalls as close as his shadow. And yet they weren't meant to reach the exit so easily.

"Stupefy!"

Severus winced as the spell hissed past his ear. _Potter._ He could never mistake that voice.

"Run, Draco!" he warned, then stopped and turned, buying Draco time.

Potter sprinted toward him in a headlong rush, as if he knew the world better than the rest of them in it. _Why do I even bother keeping him safe when even now the only thing that arrogant brat excels at is risking his damn foolish neck?_

This was neither the time nor the place for a juvenile fit.

"Cruc..."

 _Ah. So, he thinks he's ready for the Unforgivables. Fool! He'll learn now._ Severus batted his attempt aside, as contemptuous as swatting a fly, and the backblast knocked Potter off his feet. Behind him, the Groundskeeper's Hut burst into flame but he didn't spare it a glance: his gaze was fixed with a duelist's intensity on Potter's face. The firelight was less bright than Potter's open, utter fury. _He hates me._

 _He'll never channel that hate properly into a curse. For someone like Potter, hate is a weakness._

"No Unforgivable Curses from you, Potter!" Severus cried. He had to choose every word with care: there was no knowing which of the Death Eaters were in earshot. Desperately he willed Potter to understand the true warning. "You haven't got the nerve or the ability -"

Potter snarled "Incarc-"

Severus flicked the beginning of his curse aside, easy as his dad used to flick away a cigarette butt. _Pathetic._

"Fight back!" Potter roared. "Fight back, you cowardly -"

In as few words as possible, in the little time Severus had left with Potter, he attempted to teach the boy sense. There was time to strike but until then Potter had to keep his mouth shut and mind closed. But the lesson was as futile just as any remedial lesson they'd had.

"Impedi-" he lashed out and was stopped by a Cruciatus from one of the Carrows behind them.

 _Damn him! He just couldn't stop playing bait to the Death Eaters._

"No!" Severus roared at Alecto. "Have you forgotten our orders? Potter belongs to the Dark Lord - we are to leave him." _Leave him be. Now!_ "Go! Go!"

Potter remained flat on the grass. Cursed. Alive and screaming with rage. Severus was tempted to come closer to ensure that the boy was not vitally injured but the boy stirred again. He lifted his wand.

"Sectum -"

 _Stay down! Protego!_ The wordless instinctive reply came instantly; his spell rebounded. _Expelliarmus!_ "No, Potter!" Severus screamed. Caught by his own spell, Potter soared backwards and fell. _Almost like Dumbledore._

On the ground, Potter remained disarmed. But alive.

Severus summoned his outrage. _Sectumsempra._ The same spell that Potter used against Draco. _He wants to turn my invention against me. How dare he steal my spells!_

Potter's face was red with hatred, in the lurid light of the burning cabin.

"You dare use my own spells against me, Potter?" Severus spat the name like a mouthful of bile or the blood of a beating.

Potter's expression changed to something... shock? _Here, you arrogant brat. Get a glimpse of who you're dealing with. Have a crumb of the truth, and try not to choke on it._ "It was _I_ who invented them - _I_ , the Half-Blood Prince!" _Yes, I know everything. I know you've been using my notes to cheat at Potions all year, you ungrateful little prick._ _I designed them, I crafted them. I brought each one to life._ _And what did you do with my knowledge? Damned near killed Draco._ "And you'd turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you?"

Severus saw a flicker of something in those bright eyes. _What?_ "... no!" Amid all the foolish wand waving that had already taken place, Potter's wand was the last thing he needed. _Stay down, fool!_

Severus hexed his wand out of sight, even as Potter dove for it. "I don't think so ...no."

It was all too easy. Far too easy even to be fun. Potter showed his intentions in every line of his body before he even moved.

 _HE will hardly even need Legilimency to know every thought in Potter's empty head. As long as the brat's so arrogant and unshielded and defenceless and stupid, he's doomed us all, and all those decades, all those sacrifices - including tonight! - will have gone for nothing!_

"Kill me!" Potter cried out, his face distorted in anger. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward -"

From his very first word, memories Severus had been holding at bay crashed over him: flashes of horror, anguish, squalor, loathing, despair. He'd seen so much, endured so much, he'd done so much... At this ultimate injustice, fury blazed in Severus, white-hot and howling for release, roaring "DON'T..." - his face twisted, nausea or hatred or grief - "...CALL ME COWARD!"

But even that couldn't release the burning pressure of injustice and he could not stop himself from lashing out. For the first and only time, Severus slapped Potter in the face, as wizards do, with the stroke of a wand instead of a brute physical palm, like a Muggle.

And then, with a rush, a hippogriff was swooping, too fast for surprise; as its talons reached for him, Severus hurled himself backwards, only just in time to avoid having his head torn off.

The next instant he was sprinting for the gates, dodging and weaving as the brute - too large for agility - flapped and slashed and shrieked above him. The gates loomed before him like the entrance into a sanctuary or a graveyard, as the monster's talons hissed through the air at his back.

He hurled himself through the archway, diving in a last-ditch attempt to avoid tearing death, and before he even hit the ground he Disapparated.

Severus remembered one face that day, Potter's rage in Lily's eyes, the utter hatred and fiery determination in them, and an unspoken cry of his soul, broken beyond healing or reparation sounded within him still.

 _Don't call me coward, boy. You've no idea what I am. You've no idea what I sacrificed to get here._

One innocent was saved. Another left alive. And Severus was damned once again, proclaimed a murderer, a fugitive, and, by Potter's own words, a coward.

For now, he could do nothing but flee Hogwarts, leaving Potter behind.

* * *

With a gasp, Severus awoke, a nightmare sending chills through him, turning his heart into a hammering wreck. It left him shivering, in the dark, in the safety of his rooms.

 _I'm at Hogwarts. I'm home. The war is over._

 _After this year, Potter will be gone. I'll never have to deal with him again._

In the dark of the night, as his heartbeat quieted, the nightmare didn't quite let go...

* * *

 _Home._ Spinner's End was freezing and dark and empty. An acceptable hideout. Draco and Severus were safe, for now. All was quiet, only frozen rain struck the worn cobbles past the boarded-up window.

Severus was so tired. Exhausted. Eternal rest sounded too much like paradise. But he couldn't rest yet.

He had to face the truth and accept the damning fact that he was a coward in Harry Potter's eyes. After all, how much worse could this new brand make him? He was a Death Eater, Marked for life, filled with darkness and tainted with evil and full of hate for everything that innocents held dear. How could he be anything else? His skin was sallow and his hair was greasy and his eyes were black and his features ugly and thus he fit perfectly into the stereotype of a criminal. The perfect picture of a foe.

Well, he'd rather be an enemy than an ally to such a farce. Because to fit such a vision of 'heroic' and 'good', someone like him - someone 'Sorted wrong' from the start - would have to remain silent, hidden away: suitably punished, preferably dead for good. Who would want to listen to him or stay near him or even look at him? After all, who would want a parasite, a murderer, a dark wizard, a Marked man? Surely the right to exist in the Wizarding world should only belong to the Light, the special. The Gryffindors. The Chosen Ones.

How was such a mentality different from casting Muggleborns aside and granting magical schooling only to purebloods? Whose eye, whose word, whose bias and hate would separate the chosen few from the dirt this time?

To stand with them - Dumbledore's Army, the Order - Severus had to become like them and in order to do so he had to stop living, observing, and thinking for himself. He'd rather have been stunned and Obliviated and Kissed than ever step into the spotlight and remain on the side of their Light praising their wisdom all the way. Their obedient puppet, their repentant slave; what else should he have to give to make up for the greatest mistake of his youth?

What they feared most was that he'd dared to lift his head up and speak against such travesty and have the guts to criticise his accepted Master. If he was not silent, not invisible, then he must have been evil, criminal, insane. If he was honest, if he was outspoken, he must have been the enemy.

He wanted no part of this game. He could not praise Dumbledore's deeds while his strategy only involved a game of chess with the lives of innocents, while his justice involved shunning a quarter of the children in his care who Sorted wrong. Dumbledore said Severus Sorted too soon, but maybe he was exactly who he was meant to be.

Severus Snape. Slytherin. Spy.

The first night at Spinner's End, in his childhood room, Severus dreamed of Lily's silver doe strolling through the dark forest in search of something, something important. It was snowing, the ground was iced over, icicles gathered on low-hanging branches. When he woke, still exhausted, and attempted to summon his Patronus, all that came out of the tip of his wand at Expecto Patronum was a faint trail of silver smoke. The doe was gone.

Considering the events of yesterday, he couldn't say he was surprised. A Patronus was hope, and he had no hope left.

He was once more Severus Snape. Slytherin. Spy.

He was on Harry Potter's side but not visibly by him, because no matter what happened to the boy he was the beloved, the greatest, the chosen, and Severus was the Marked man and he had no intention of forgetting that.

He couldn't be himself if he declared himself on Potter's side, nor would it do the boy any good. He couldn't accomplish his task of keeping Potter alive if he proclaimed his allegiance openly, so Severus had to remain in the shadows, shielding and protecting Potter and keeping him safe and sacrificing all so that the Chosen One may live, for now. And if such a necessity made him a coward, and even if it made him a criminal, inhuman, and a monster in Potter's eyes, then Severus would be all that and more!

It wasn't until much later that Severus allowed himself to spill tears. He was alone then, and Headmaster. His fist pressed against Albus' portrait frame. The painting would have been destroyed if found at Hogwarts. Therefore, no one could see it.

Dumbledore's portrait was an idyllic parody of the office that was now Severus Snape's. Fawkes' perch sat empty within the ornate frame. A painted tea set sat in the background, neatly arranged on its tea tray. Tea steamed invitingly as it was poured into the cup. Lemon drops and a tray of scones completed the picture.

Severus still remembered the day when his reality smelled of lemon drops and tea. Fawkes preened and chirped softly in the corner.

 _"Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… If you are prepared..."_

He was, when the time came: through the doorway, out, out, out. He turned the corner and suddenly, the chilling draft of the tower and the roar of the wind was deafening and he was met with a horrifying sight. A horrifying sound. _"Severus... please ..."_

He gasped at the sight of Dumbledore's portrait and couldn't force himself to touch the canvas as the painted wizard slumbered within. _I am the Headmaster now. Our puppet masters find a way to rule beyond their deepest reach if allowed such power. I intend to keep this particular former master at bay. He mustn't be allowed to rule me any more than I let him._

Severus had long ago resigned himself to the most despicable of duties. It was what he excelled in. Dumbledore made him and moulded him into a weapon. That was what made Severus useful to him. It made him indispensable and therefore kept him alive.

But even as Severus inherited one final task from a dead man, some deeds were simply impossible. "Call me Albus, my dear boy," the portrait insisted.

"I shan't."

After so many years in servitude to Hogwarts Headmaster, being in servitude to Hogwarts portrait was no different. Severus listened as it instructed. And it did instruct so very well.

"When, Albus?"

"You'll know when the time comes."

"When?"

"Have hope, Severus."

"Hope is a luxury I can no longer afford."

 _Damn you, Dumbledore._

"With hope comes valor," Dumbledore's voice carried and it made Severus' chest ache.

Valor was what had powered Godric Gryffindor's sword in Severus' hand and therefore it could not be more alien to him. Severus was known for valor. "Coward," he recalled Harry Potter's face at the thrown insult, and at that, the sword handle grew cold.

Valor, Severus reminded himself. The sword was stuck with an unlikely wielder, it would have to deal with the situation the best it can. At least it had shown itself, the true one, not the copies planted in multiple hands and locations around the castle for distraction.

This one weapon warmed under the hand that wielded it. This one whispered of valor, as beguiling as knighthood to a hero. But Severus was no hero. He had to get the sword in the hands of someone more suitable.

The Pensieve in the Headmaster's office stood empty: Severus remembered it filled, with many days of preparation, crying memories out into its depth before Occlumency lessons with Potter. For now, he merely ran his hand over the edge and did not dispose of any memories.

He ran the hand over its jagged edge, then over Dumbledore's portrait frame above it and lowered the curtain over it.

"Expecto Patronum," he whispered, without expectations, without hope. He was so used to living without, he treasured any wisp of magic at the end of his wand, like a silver smoke of a frozen man's last breath.

That was the day she returned at last. His doe. His everything. He now knew what needed to be done. _For Lily. For Harry._

He would use the only lasting remainder of Lily's memory to steer her son toward his destiny. Or was it to his doom?

* * *

Even with the safety of Hogwarts' foundations around him, Severus' sleep was always uneasy, filled with a lifetime of nightmares.

He awoke in the dungeon, reminding himself, over and over, that he was no longer at Spinner's End, he was not fleeing Hogwarts, and he was done with following Dumbledore's demands. He wasn't a fugitive. He wasn't a spy. He was free from all that, he had to put it behind him, he had to be. He was...

Potter was still here, in the castle, probably sleeping soundly far above the dungeon, in the Gryffindor Tower.

And moreover, with all the memories that rose to the surface as he slept, Severus was no closer to figuring out the puzzle. The fierce, impossible emotion that kindled inside him ever since he awoke in St. Mungo's to the sight of Harry Potter, that made his heart race and his throat seize, was still as unexplainable as it was true.

* * *

A stormy night amid a week's worth of rain made Harry's sleep uneasy as well.

Even now Harry was awake, listening to the storm pick up outside. He wondered how much more intense the storm would be if he watched it from atop of Hogwarts towers. Any tower would do. Perhaps even that one tower, with the view of the courtyard from the sharp ledge, the one adorned with all the gargoyles. The one with the broom closet leading to the crawlspace in a potions storeroom.

* * *

The moment Severus Snape came to, Harry witnessed a transformation in that solitary room of St Mungo's with two guards standing outside.

Immediately as his eyes focused on Harry, Snape's expression grew stern, pained. Harry leaned forward, perched on the corner chair, and held his breath.

"Potter… How?" Snape gave him a truly astonished look, as if he couldn't quite believe Harry would be there by his bedside, for any reason whatsoever. His voice was gruff, from the wound or the disuse, and coughing overtook him. Harry waited it out.

"Shh, you're hurt." _Just don't make it worse!_ "I… I've got something of yours, right here," Harry said, as if that simple act explained it all. "Not all of them, and I'm so sorry about that. Some of them. I know you're on our side. I'll make sure everyone knows it too!"

Snape's eyes moved to the door, where the shadows from the two Aurors currently crossed like swords. Flickering, in the firelight.

And then Harry carefully set the tiny phial full of white on the corner table. "That's them by the way, the memories, you can have them back."

Snape stared at the phial but made no move to collect it. His voice was so very toneless, so calm. "Is that all?"

"Uh, yeah, I mean, I'm sorry we couldn't save more."

Snape sighed, there was something unreadable and strange in his dark stare. "Potter, I merely meant, if that's all, it's time for you to leave."

"You aren't going to…" _How did the memories make their way inside exactly?_ "... put them back in? Do you need help with that? Do you what, drink them? Inhale them?"

Snape glanced at the white phial and let it sit on the table.

"Inhalation works. It's easier with an aid of a wand." A scowl marred his features. "I'll improvise."

"They took your wand." _But of course they did. Snape was a suspect after all. A criminal awaiting trial._ "Do you need to borrow mine? Here!"

"You'd trust me with a weapon?" Snape's gaze was so very dark at that. Almost blank. "Curious."

"Yes," Harry breathed. "With my life. You're not a criminal. I'll testify to that."

"Am I not?" Those thin lips curled in amusement. "That's a fresh take on murder."

"Murder? You're not! Wait..." _Something didn't make sense._ "Why are you so calm?"

The laughter Harry had heard was a horrible sound, as terrible as a funeral bell tolling. "I know how this game ends. Not even the great Harry Potter can make a difference at a Death Eater's jury verdict."

"Like hell I can't! They have to listen to me!"

Something dark kindled in Snape's stare. His tone was utterly flat and terrifying with its finality. "I'm flattered. But you shouldn't trouble yourself with a losing cause. Your energy is best spent elsewhere. Go!"

Harry's jaw dropped. Even half-dead, Snape could make his blood boil in two seconds flat. He stormed out of that room not bothering to even slam the door shut. _That self-sacrificing bastard,_ he thought. _He may be too paranoid to believe the best of the Wizarding world, but the good guys won, and I'll be damned if I let Snape practically volunteer himself for a Dementor's Kiss after all he's done for us._

How could Harry help a man who didn't seem to even want any help? That was the most infuriating part of the whole tangled situation. It was Halloween all over again with Snape arguing his way out of what Harry saw with his own eyes, what he knew to be true. Well, he didn't go along with it then, and he sure wasn't about to now. The stubborn bastard was so determined to let the world drag his name through the mud, but not on Harry's watch. Harry knew the truth as plain as he once saw Snape soar in the sky, inspired by Harry's mum's childhood magic. That sort of thing was pure, as untainted as a Patronus, as a phial of memories preserved behind thin glass. That was all Snape, and when you weighed all that against the stain of his Mark, there had to be a balance struck. That's all Harry could hope for, beyond hope, of being able to say the right thing in front of those who judged Snape, to find the right words, to tip that balance toward good.

Because Dumbledore would have wanted nothing less, and Harry himself only wanted what's fair. He just wanted to do the right thing.

That's it. That was exactly it.

* * *

No, actually. He didn't need to lie to himself like this. This was not it at all.

Harry wanted to help Snape, did help Snape, because he, selfishly, desperately, wanted Severus Snape alive and well. After so many lives lost, someone had to survive. And Harry wanted Severus Snape to survive, to succeed, and not just that. He wanted to see Snape fly again. Light as a feather. As freely as birds flew. And he wanted to be there, in the air, watching him do so. He wanted to follow suit and show Snape what he'd learned, what he could do now. He wanted Snape to see and to know exactly how much flying meant to Harry. How much them flying together meant to Harry.

 _I have to help him remember._


	4. Felix Felicis

**Felix Felicis**

* * *

Headmistress McGonagall had always made it a point to keep a large fire crackling in her office. This preference of hers hasn't changed just because she became Headmistress and moved her belongings from the first floor corridor up to the Tower. The fire remained lit from the early morning to the midnight hour.

Once visitors stepped through the oaken double doors and navigated past several spindly tables, they were surrounded by the portraits that filled the walls. Wide windows offered a breathtaking view of the lake and the Forbidden Forest. Stacks of papers were piled neatly on the desk and a small study off to the right contained a multitude of books from McGonagall's personal library. A small cat bed was tucked away under the corner curtains, and a saucer of milk in the far corner behind all the bookshelves was a mouthwatering offering if one happened to be a cat.

In the alcove by the Pensieve, Albus' portrait offered a similarly furnished view of the same office, save for Fawkes' perch. Within his painted domain, Albus was awake and he waved merrily at her as she leapt from her seat, her muzzle freshly cleaned and her tail high.

"What a beautiful day it is," Albus nattered on. "It will be a fine afternoon for a nap later." And while her feline self agreed, the human had far too many tasks on her to-do list for today, so she transformed mid-leap and gave the portrait a courteous nod.

"I'll tell the house-elves to postpone the dusting to give you some peace and quiet."

"Minerva." Albus' gaze turned sombre. "Have you spoken with Severus?"

"Not recently. What's the matter?"

Albus looked strange. She peered closer. His robes hugged his form, hanging heavily down, and water dripped from the tip of his fancy hat. He chewed his lip mournfully and patted his thick beard, which looked slightly damp. As he approached the painted fireplace, the sleeves of his robes let out a trail of steam. "I went to visit him in the dungeons. Imagine my surprise when even the painting of the lake floor in his office was covered up! I couldn't see a thing."

Minerva tsked. There was no talking a portrait out of it when they acted on unfinished business. She remembered that painting well, and she pictured Albus taking a long dive past the seaweed and the Giant Squid's tentacles to get into the framed portion of the painting with the dimly lit lake floor crisscrossed by the deep green shadows. "I can pass on a message if you'd like," she volunteered with a curt smile. "Or I can tell him to speak with you after our next staff meeting."

Albus frowned. "Best not. It's a delicate situation, you see."

 _How delicate can it be?_ "I'm sure whatever it is can be sorted out with a single sensible discussion."

Albus remained very still, gazing into the painted fireplace. Nearby, a tiny phoenix chick, frail and featherless, stirred amid the fluffy ashes of his nest. "I'm afraid not. He already views me as his master. And in Severus' eyes, few things are worse."

 _A master…_ Minerva's fingers clenched over the back of her chair. She suspected she knew exactly the weight of those words. It explained so much about Severus. It really did.

She knew the exact day when she took on a new role in Severus' life.

* * *

Just like Courtroom Ten, Courtroom Thirteen was a square hall with benches alongside each wall. Black stone reflected the torchlight, rendering even the warmest flames dull-grey. Severus was brought in through the second set of doors which must have led to the dungeons, and placed in the chair in the centre of the room. The chains on the armrests of the heavy iron chair bound him in what looked like an uncomfortable position: he was bending slightly forward with an awkward twist to his shoulders.

Minerva surveyed the far set of benches stretching up almost to the ceiling. There must've been at least two dozen people present, but she couldn't see any reporters among them. Perhaps without the extra scrutiny, they stood a better chance.

Harry sat in the front row, off to the right. He was on the edge of his seat and staring at Severus, who didn't meet his eye. Severus looked blankly ahead of him with the grim stare of someone destined for death row instead of an early release.

When it was Minerva's turn to speak for the man bound in the centre of the room, one of the last to do so, she came forward.

"Minerva McGonagall," The lonely Wizengamot representative, a stout old man, addressed her. An enchanted quill hurried frantically to record the proceedings. Tiberius was his name. Tiberius Ogden. His younger brother Titus and Minerva were at Hogwarts together: the brothers were both in Ravenclaw. "Are you so sure of his innocence?"

"Yes."

A rustle, a murmur rose from the seats.

Minerva squared her shoulders and glanced at her wand held up on a purple pillow before her, by a house-elf. Five minutes ago she swore an oath to be truthful in court using it. She stated her name and title for the record and saw it written down by a pair of enchanted quills and a bespectacled human recorder with a shining bald spot. The quills now looked quite distressed at the murmurs, not knowing whether or how to record all the noise.

"Silence!" Tiberius hissed, raising his arms.

Minerva waited for the whispers to die down. It did not take long.

"I am so sure, in fact, that I will guarantee Severus Snape can have his previous post of teaching Potions at Hogwarts upon his early release."

Angry murmurs ran through the room, louder than before. This time an annoyed stare from Tiberius quieted the loudest of them. His small round spectacles flickered in the dimness of the room, reflecting the white of the papers in front of him. He licked his finger and then used it to flip to the next page of his notes. Tiberius leaned forward then, directing his attention once more to her.

"Headmistress, you would allow a convicted Death Eater near the children?"

"I am certain of Professor Snape's loyalty to our cause, and of his utmost integrity and work ethic. However," she looked around the room and noticed that all eyes were now on her. "Precautions _will_ be taken. Severus Snape will swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect the safety of all students at Hogwarts and to never harm a single one. That I can assure you of. As the testimony in his case already demonstrates, he is intimately familiar with such spells."

Tiberius examined her from under his drooping lids. "You give your word as the Headmistress?"

Minerva drew a breath. Snape was a fellow teacher once and Hogwarts did not abandon people still loyal to the school. Bringing him back as a teacher of the subject he had most experience teaching was the least she could do to restore his reputation. Besides, they were terribly short-staffed. "I do."

"In that case, prisoner DE-19600109, you are to be rehabilitated and released into society, upon your full compliance with the terms imposed by Headmistress McGonagall, said compliance to be completed before midnight tonight."

She remembered well, that echoing sound as the magical gavel struck the wooden surface, and Severus' chains faded without so much as a click of a lock.

Later, at Hogwarts, with Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout as witnesses and with Albus watching on or perhaps over the small group, a stiff-shouldered, pale Severus held still as he and Minerva clasped hands and repeated the vow together. She did so first, as instruction, which he echoed obediently. As Severus let go of her arm, his signature appeared on the contract spread on the table before him, reinstating him under his former title and salary with the start date of September first.

"Now that's done, do you have everything you need?" Minerva inquired. "If you require care for your injuries, Poppy is here for the summer." Severus shook his head. His neck scar looked inflamed but she trusted a skilled brewer such as himself to come up with an appropriate remedy. All in all, his stay in Azkaban was short, a few weeks which had seemed to age him by years, and left a white streak over his temple.

He was no longer someone she could afford to worry about as a friend or a peer. He was now her charge; a different thing altogether. "I'll send the house-elves down with food and medicines," she informed him sharply. "I trust you'll have the syllabus ready in time for the start of the term."

Severus nodded, almost in relief, snapping back to the formality of work to be done. Did he prefer it this way? She couldn't claim the same just yet. She made a mental note to add a personal note and a celebratory bottle of Ogden's to the house-elves' delivery. It was only proper that a bottle of Firewhisky brewed by Tiberius' kin would be used to celebrate the Wizengamot decision.

* * *

It was a curious thing, to witness a change years in the making as opposed to something changing overnight.

Once, long ago, without any warning, in the slow and measured manner of Hogwarts Christmases and the most boring of staff meetings, Severus stopped being a student to Minerva and became an acquaintance, a fellow teacher. Minerva wondered at what point he had stopped being that man. Perhaps when they had faced each other during the battle of Hogwarts and he had fled: a Hogwarts Headmaster abandoning the castle and all it held in her future care. Or perhaps it was much later when his oath of servitude in this very office bound him to her and to Hogwarts once more.

 _A master._ Is that what she was to him now? If the gravity of Albus' words was to be believed, then she was no different from Voldemort in his eyes. Minerva felt chilled. Insulted. And yet, her mind flew to the exact moment when her new role begun.

She had risked the school's reputation to free Severus Snape, and the fact that he'd consider that act of trust another burden of servitude he dutifully had to endure was unacceptable. She'd be damned if, after all that effort, she'd let Severus construct a prison of his own making around himself, rejecting any offer of help.

* * *

In the dreary silence of an early November morning, Severus pulled his sleeve up, to examine his Mark. It was nothing, a greying shadow of what it used to be. Lord Voldemort, defeated by Harry Bloody Potter. How was that for the irony of the ages?

What did Potter ever have to ensure victory or even long-term survival? Nothing. Besides his name. Besides those on his side working to ensure his success. Besides Dumbledore's blind belief in all things Harry Potter? Besides Snape's quiet determination to keep the lad alive?

Severus remembered all too well, the horrors he had to witness, the horrors he had to commit, in the name of Dumbledore's vision. But there was one particular moment when left to his own devices, he chose the unforgivable route.

* * *

Knockturn Alley blocked out the sunlight. Severus wrapped the cloak tighter around his Polyjuiced form and rushed forward.

 _There is no other way,_ he reminded himself. _I cannot become part of Potter's inner circle so I must find someone who is close enough, close enough to not be suspected. Close enough to keep him safe._

Mundungus Fletcher, a necessary sacrifice. He came close, sneaking until he was almost upon him, in a ratty part of Knockturn Alley.

 _"Imperio."_ Such a simple word, so why did it feel like a part of Severus died on a single breath. Why did it have to die? After all, this was convenient. This was only necessary.

Mundungus could now go where Severus could no longer follow. The man would be his eyes and ears. The man would be Severus' hand and would do his bidding, for the greater good. _Or is it?_

 _For my version of the greater good, not Dumbledore's._

 _All to keep Harry Potter safe._

* * *

In light of all Severus had done, what did Potter have to do, to do Dumbledore's bidding? Besides surviving despite all odds? Besides being an icon of hope which rallied many to action?

 _"Oh, you never know,"_ Severus heard Potter's voice ringing, far more sarcastic than the brat usually went for. _"Maybe I can outfly him and then kill him from the air."_

Severus frowned. He didn't recall the context of this particular conversation. In fact, it wasn't a conversation as much as an echo, a memory of a memory. But for some reason, it rang true, and it felt more real than any of his nightmares felt.

 _What was that? Is it one of the memories I lost? A remainder of one, but if so, can I recover more of them?_ Severus focused, digging through his awareness for more echoes, more clues, but none were there. _Just my luck..._

Instead of what he was searching for dawned a realization of a different kind. Potter.

The lad was obscenely, proverbially lucky. It was fool's luck. As Gryffindor as his endless escapades, his insufferable cheek. His luck survived Quidditch accidents and Forbidden Forest escapades. He narrowly escaped strangulation while traipsing invisible through the Slytherin dungeons, stretching Severus' patience whipcord-thin. He took it for granted that his deaf-to-common-sense ears (behind which he was too damned wet) might as well ooze Felix Felicis. And yet...

Severus, of all people, knew damned well just how rare and precious luck is. 'Luck' only ever happened when preparation met opportunity. When a perfect recipe met an extraordinary brewer. A phial of such luck had once awaited its turn in Severus' potions belt, amid the bezoars and the healing draughts and the liquid curses and poisons and explosives. _Whatever happened to that phial, or to the belt for that matter?_

 _Essentially,_ he mused to himself, _I may as well have been tasked by Dumbledore to ensure that Potter would have a backup supply of luck once his natural luck ran out._ It was a task which once seemed impossible for any brewer, no matter how skilled _._

 _With a luck as rotten as mine, I can't even get the Ministry to cough up my belongings. And it's been months! It's a wonder they haven't destroyed them out of spite and declared them lost for good._

Severus didn't receive his wand and his potions belt until November was almost over. A Ministry owl, tawny and frazzled brought him an unlabeled parcel dropping it on his lap as he marked papers in a rare solitary hour in his office. It landed and stuck its leg out insistently, hooting sharply, until Severus signed and dated a row in the roster which was attached to its leather band. He was the sixth recipient of Ministry-held items this week, and the first one today, judging by the state of the list.

Severus let the owl go and unwrapped the parcel, discovering, first, his wand, in one piece, which prompted him to roll his eyes. It had been weeks since he was forced to use his mother's wand as a substitute. The second item in the parcel was a coiled potions belt in pristine condition. Immediately, Severus ran his fingers over the phials it contained, knowing the layout by feel. Explosives, poisons, healing potions, bezoar, and then… The phial with Felix Felicis wasn't there in its proper place. This made no sense whatsoever. Why would this particular potion of his have gone missing and not the rest, stolen by the hand of some Ministry paper pusher? There were other items alongside it which were just as rare and just as precious. What happened to this particular one? Severus frowned, examining the gap on the potions belt and in his memories.

But then, just like that, it came to him. The bleary sight of the Shrieking Shack ceiling, fading farther and farther away. The chill in his limbs, the phial pressed to his lips, the metallic taste of Liquid Luck on his tongue. _"Drink. Come on. Drink!"_ The memory wasn't an echo, it was vague like a feverish dream, like a nightmare. Except for the green eyes that kept him gasping and swallowing and staring on into their abyss.

 _The day I almost died… I lived… I was lucky to survive. I_ was _lucky._

All thanks to Potter.

 _He never brought it up, not once, while I was in St. Mungo's, or at Hogwarts. He could have used it to claim all manner of favours. A life debt is not something to scoff at. That alone is suspicious. What exactly is Potter trying to prove with such a blatantly magnanimous display?_

One thing was clear, as much as Severus was determined to avoid Potter, it appeared that fate, and Potter, had slightly different plans.

* * *

"Mr. Potter, a word." Severus motioned for the young man to remain behind.

"What is it?" Potter flashed him an angry stare, glancing at the table where his own scroll now resided with the stack of seventh-year essays. "I did my own research, I swear, and it is a proper seventeen-and-a-half inches, I measured it. Twice. Sir."

The 'sir' from Potter's lips sounded more like a spat out hex. "This isn't about your homework," Severus overrode him, fighting to keep his tone even. After all, he was too capable of magnanimous deeds. "Well, actually, it is. Your attitude toward your studies has sunk to abysmal new lows this year, even for you. You aren't making a shred of effort to succeed. If this continues, mark my words, you will be kept back, and believe me, no one wants you gone from Hogwarts more than I..."

Potter's shoulders drooped. "You hate me, I get it. You don't have to be so loud about it."

Severus twisted his mouth in what he hoped was a particularly nasty scowl of disapproval. _I am trying to help, you halfwit._ "This isn't about me. This is about your N.E.W.T.s. Particularly your Potions N.E.W.T. I assume you haven't abandoned the idea of a Ministry career?"

"Ministry?" Potter's eyes rolled. "I want to be an Auror, not a politician! I don't see why they require that many N.E.W.T.s to begin with. All you really need is the willingness to help people and -"

 _Spare me_ , Severus thought. "So is that what this was all about. Helping the helpless. The unwanted. Saving the ultimate undesirable. Redeeming the Death Eater for fame and glory. If so, I have no inclination to be your charity case."

"No!" Potter protested. "That's not it at all!"

Severus squared his shoulders and focused on Potter from the advantage of his height, which was becoming harder to do recently, what with Potter stretching upwards like a particularly tall and lanky stalk.

"Then what is it all about? Hm?"

The lad shrugged. "I'm sorry, Professor, don't know what you mean."

Severus has summoned his infinitely stretched thin patience and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It has come to my attention that a timely phial of Felix Felicis may have saved my life, Potter. The potion was administered by you. I deserve to know why."

Potter's eyes widened. "Is this what it's all about? It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Saving one's life is hardly nothing." Snape narrowed his eyes. "And yet you never even brought it up."

"You never told me my mum could fly," Potter shrugged. "We're even."

 _Even… just like that. What delusion is this?_

Severus chewed his lip and then ended the uncomfortable silence. "Perhaps there's… value in discussing certain things. Before dire situations arise."

Potter beamed, the brat. "No kidding! Dire as in, before you're at death's door, you mean. Yeah, I agree. Deal?" He even stuck out a hopeful hand, smiling all along.

Severus arched his eyebrow at the casual gesture and stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back and curling his lip at the display. "Must I?"

"You don't have to unless you want to." Potter shook his head and his hand lowered. "I wish you'd trust me just a little bit. I'm only trying to help."

Severus regarded Potter, all sunny smiles and eagerness and no respect for professionals at this school, as usual. _Might as well put all that eagerness to good use, answering questions that matter._ "I wish to know something. Why is it that you persist trying to…" _Save me? Annoy me?_ "... help me?"

"It's hard to explain. I guess it all started way back. When I saw you fly."

"Fly?" Snape's eyes narrowed. "It's been quite some time since I've owned a broom."

* * *

Keeping Harry Potter safe was not a one-man-mission. There were seven of him on the broomsticks, as much as Severus could see through a mask, as much as he could count, and only one was real, question was: which one. He could not risk making a mistake.

 _This one, the flight pattern gives it away._

The flight was madness, sheer madness. Behind him, Bellatrix called out and cackled her joy. To his left, Severus saw Harry, and two Death Eaters in pursuit, almost upon him. A spell redirected their attention. To the right, a spell was thrown toward the boy and he swerved to its path. _Sectumsempra!_

The broom twitched, there was blood - caused by Severus' own wand hand no doubt, but the rider was still up.

 _Is that the real Potter? I can't tell! I don't know!_

Severus cast the worry aside, deep down under Occlumens shields. He could not risk it. He could not risk anyone knowing.

Deep inside the words of the ultimate plan became his mantra.

 _Harry Potter must live, and thus I must live, to see him survive. Until I send him to his death. This is the only way._

 _This is_ the _way._

* * *

Potter's sigh interrupted Severus' reverie.

"You don't have to hide from me, I know," Potter said.

 _Know what?_ "I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh." Harry blinked. "Um. You may not remember this part," he said, gently, carefully, as if Severus was one of Hagrid's bitey beasts. "But I do."

"What are you on about?"

An odd expression settled in Potter's features. Something akin to determination. He bit his lip but that surely wasn't the cause of Severus' distraction. "Hang on. I need you to read my mind."

"What?"

"You need to see this for yourself."

 _See what?_ Potter's stare was green. Open, inviting. It would be so easy to slip past his non-existent shields as if slipping a hand into a well-fitted glove. _What is he hiding from me?_

Potter came closer, facing Severus with ultimate calm. "Look, you need to see yourself doing this. You really do -"

 _Very well._

 _Legilimens._

Severus dove in, past the summery green, and the intensity of Potter's stare, into the impulsive warmth of another's thoughts.

 _'No one deserves to forget how to fly! No one, and not even Snape. Especially not Snape!'_

 _What?_

A memory drifted on the forefront of Potter's mind as if waiting specifically for him.

 _Flocks of gargoyles studded the parapet, crouching atop their stone perches. Faces of cats and dogs, with stone wings spread upwards. They fluttered and shifted, restlessly. Several leapt off as Harry drew nearer. Over the empty parapet, Harry watched the gargoyles circling, grey amid grey clouds. Then a shadow detached from the nearest, darkest thundercloud and drifted down, smooth as if it was in the eye of a hurricane. It grew closer, bigger, darker, spreading like gliding wings._

 _Harry took a step back and drew his wand, ready to cast, but then - nothing. Where did it go? Even the gargoyles were mostly gone. All except for one, towering behind his back. Not a gargoyle, not a dementor, something much worse._

 _"Potter."_

Severus' eyes widened, for a moment his icy facade faded, and only the curiosity of a researcher, the fascination, remained.

"I flew unaided," he said. "In front of you."

The widest smile spread on Potter's lips. "Yes."

"When was this?"

Potter couldn't stop grinning. "A couple of years back. You kept denying it, at first. Until I talked to you and tried to do what you did. You weren't happy. Apparently, it was really dangerous to try. Without proper practice, that is. You wouldn't let me practice it either."

"How did you even end up on that roof?"

"There's a crawlspace, in your storeroom. I've… It was a dare. Got in trouble for that too."

Severus' lips thinned. "I was wondering what I used that particular crawlspace for. I thought it was for collecting fresh rainwater during the storms."

"From what I can tell, I think you enjoyed going flying at night. You never let anyone watch though. You were brilliant at it, from what I've seen. It really is an incredible spell."

There was admiration in Potter's tone, as clear as day. Severus didn't want to admit to himself how good it felt to hear it, particularly from Potter.

"This is not something I would have cared to forget. What I'm trying to say is, thank you. I'm in your debt."

Potter nodded. "It's not a debt. You saved us all plenty of times over. Consider it payback." He frowned, fidgeting. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I wasn't quick enough to get them all, your memories. Just some of them."

Severus sighed. "I should count myself lucky you understood me at all. I wasn't planning on needing them back. Nor did I plan on ever using them again."

"Can you tell what exactly is missing?"

 _If only it were that easy._

Severus shook his head. "Sometimes, when I look at my notes, or in mid-conversation, I notice something is gone and there is..." He thought back at the missing phial on his potions belt, "... a gap. It doesn't happen often and it doesn't intervene with my teaching ability, I demonstrated said ability to Minerva, Headmistress McGonagall, shortly after she allowed me to return to my old position." _How she convinced the Board to let a Death Eater back to Hogwarts, I'll never know._ "Rest assured, Potter, you will have the finest preparation for your N.E.W.T.s I'm able to offer."

Potter sighed. At first, the warmth of Potter's fingers over Severus' hand was a ghostly presence. Something quite impossible. Then Potter squeezed his hand. Squeezed and let go.

"You gave me the memories of your life which mattered most. Really mattered to you. I shouldn't have left them behind."

"You've captured some." Toward the end, what Severus assumed were the older memories, the ones of Severus' childhood, of Lily, and of Dumbledore, of Potter himself. He was grateful to have them.

What did the rest of the memories hold? It was useless to guess, but Severus thought he knew now.

 _The moments that made me grow fond of him… Not as Lily's son, but as Harry._

 _The Boy Who Lived. Snape's charge. Snape's personal saviour._

"I reckon the ones we saved were the most important," Potter's stare was bright, in the light of the nearest torch. His stance, one of ease. There was a trace of an embarrassed grin on his face.

 _Potter was so close to learning the truth once, but he did not. He let it slip away. It was for the best._

Severus stepped back, clenched his hand over his forearm, maintaining a neutral facade.

 _Potter must never know._

* * *

Later that evening, in his rooms, Severus paced uneasily. Sometimes it seemed he'd been through this before, a glimpse of humanity, of tenderness awoken by another's touch, but this time was different, oh so different…

Deja vu, nonetheless.

* * *

Spinner's End was dusty and small, with low ceilings and a cobwebbed staircase. Inside his childhood home, Severus was no longer a child. No longer a man. A gargoyle, a golem of ice and stone, where nothing living could penetrate through the wards he had carefully placed over his humanity.

Still, there were moments it only took a touch to wake him up. Draco's inviting touch, on his shoulder.

"Professor?" Draco asked carefully. "What should we do now?"

 _Now we wait._ Severus shrugged off the insistent warmth. "Get some rest, Draco."

"It's freezing here." The boy didn't seem to be shivering as he pressed closer. "Have you got another blanket? Can I stay with you? In your room?"

"Are you not a wizard?" Severus sighed, but he cast a warming spell nonetheless.

Draco sighed almost happily but didn't pull back as he gathered himself in a blanket-wrapped nest at Severus' side. A lost boy, complete with tragic stare and pale haunted face. It almost even worked to lull Severus into a false sense of security.

"You've got a bad cut." Draco's fingers traced Severus' jaw.

"Ah." _Bloody hippogriff._ His mouth curled in a scowl. "Hagrid doesn't declaw his pets."

Draco winced. "That monster should've been put down." His hand remained over Severus' jaw.

 _What is he playing at? He can't possibly be interested. Ah, but of course..._

And so at last, Severus pulled back from Draco. "You may stay here tonight. Don't use up all the candle."

As Draco mumbled about brothers-in-arms and comfort, Severus reminded himself that Draco was Narcissa's son and an innocent, and he would remain that way in Severus' charge!

Severus left him to it, leaving him in his own old room. As he closed the door behind him, it felt like closing the door on childhood itself. On his humanity in general. If he were to see this through, in order to save the innocent, he would become their guardian, their watchman, their sacrifice. But he couldn't give Draco anything else, any more than a soulless husk left behind by a Dementor could offer human companionship.

Desire and dreams were for the living, for those who had all their humanity intact. Draco would keep his and one day would meet someone to share them with.

That distant future was what Severus vowed to protect.

* * *

The future was now a reality. And still, Severus felt adrift, on the outside, looking in. Not allowed a breath, a taste, a dream of such future. Futures weren't for the likes of him. He was never meant to have a future.

In this world, that had given him a future, he was lost.

In a way, he was a statue still, a monument to his own tenacity. But with persistent application of magic, as many gargoyles around Hogwarts demonstrated, even statues took flight. As impossible as it seemed to reclaim his humanity, his innocence, his soul after everything he'd done to help Harry Potter win, perhaps reclaiming the skies would be easier to do.

 _I've done this before,_ he told himself. _I should know this. I invented this spell. This is mine alone and mine to keep._

He didn't bother taking a leap, or even another step. He was on flat ground. And so he merely squared his shoulders and spread his arms, lifted his chin high and then, willed himself to rise up in the air, against the pull of gravity, against the law of nature, against every force in the world that kept him down. Against the world which predetermined him to crawl, to bow. For this was his alone to control and Severus Snape was in perfect control of this, magic singing at his fingertips, through his entire body, wordless, wandless, and strong enough to lift a man destined only to fall.

At long last, he soared, up and forward, under the high-arched ceiling of Slytherin dungeon.


	5. Detention

**Detention**

For the third day in a row, Harry took a broom out every evening past curfew. He cast a Warming charm and perched on the windy rooftop of the tallest turret, watching for a familiar shape amid the gargoyles. In the solitude of the sky, Harry felt safe enough to admit to himself: he felt responsible for Snape after telling Snape about the flying spell. _What if he tries to fly alone and falls to his death?_ Harry reasoned with himself. _At least this way someone would be there, to catch him if needed._

 _If he falls, I'll need to dive after him,_ Harry reasoned. _And I'll have to be quick because I won't have much time. I'll have to put my arms around him and hold on with all my strength, catching him just right and he'll be heavy, as heavy as anyone, so I'll have to cast a spell to lighten the load right away at the same time just so my broom will hold in the air, and then I'll slowly lower him to the ground… only, it's probably best to fly up and put us onto the rooftop, since it'll be less chance anyone will see us. And only then I'll let him down. He'll say "Thanks, Potter," in that restrained tone. And I'll say "Don't mention it. Just take care next time, yeah?" And we'll be standing facing each other like equals, like two fliers learning to navigate the sky together. And then he'll look at me and clasp one hand over my shoulder and squeeze. Yeah, that's the plan._

It felt so good to have a plan in place, in case of a dire emergency. It made Harry's heart beat faster and warmed his chest, just like the thought of Snape's hand on his shoulder.

His spontaneous guess regarding Snape's intent to fly outside was correct. On the third night, he saw a familiar cloaked figure among the gargoyles on the roof.

It was snowing and the soft chunks made everything bright and quiet. They stuck to Harry's eyelashes and to his lips, left wet splatters on his glasses. Harry squinted, peering down. Among all that pristine beauty was a set of dark footsteps on the ledge and a smudge of black fabric, sweeping across the fresh snow cover.

Snape stood on the parapet, his cloak trailed behind him, like an unfolded bat wing.

Harry held his breath and steered his broom behind a round tower roof, huddling and making himself as small as possible, while still getting a decent view. Snape's head turned, his profile hawkish, his features sharp. Harry blinked the snow off his lashes and plastered himself along the rooftop ledge.

"Potter, get over here."

 _Damn it._ Harry sighed. _How did he spot me? I was both silent and stealthy!_

He steered his broom over the parapet and landed, away from the ledge. "Um, hi, Professor."

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape asked haughtily, looking every bit a gargoyle statue, like the ones that surrounded them.

"I was just… practising," Harry lifted his broom in demonstration, "and thought I might find you here. I wanted to check if you needed help or something. It's OK if you don't. I'll just… go."

Snape grimaced. "Hiding on the roof for a good ten minutes is an odd way of offering help." He paused for a second and then added, quieter, "But I suppose I could use a witness." He lifted his hands at his sides, with a dramatic gesture and rose in the air above the ledge, looming over Harry like a dementor. Only he had a face and a stare, chilling as it sometimes was. The twin curtains of black hair around Snape's face flared, parting, on a soft breeze. There was a hint of pink to his sallow cheeks, to the edges of his scar barely visible over the collar of his robe. Harry found himself mesmerised by the spectacle, by Snape's feet not touching the pristine cover of snow on the parapet. By Snape's robes billowing, dark and heavy, surrounded by soft snow falling in silence.

Snape hovered for a few seconds longer, until finally settling down once more, just an arm's length away, still looming despite the landing. "Is this anything like what you remember?"

Harry tried not to stare, he really tried. "S' good," he volunteered. "Better than your average dementor, that's for sure. You've got the stance down but you've got that when walking too."

Snape seemed pleased at that. His lips moved, the shadows in the corners of his mouth deepening. "I suppose impersonating one could come in useful. In dire circumstance."

"They used to call you 'the Bat', actually. I can see why." Harry thought of Malfoy's old innuendo, back a few years ago. _"Hung like a Beater's bat."_ He didn't really want to be the one to explain any further to Snape. "They think of a lot of stupid things like that, but this one sort of fits. After all, you can fly. That's really something special."

Snape huffed. "Don't be ridiculous. This is not a parlour trick for all to gawk at."

"It's not!" Harry agreed. "Flying is brilliant, you know it is! You must know if you came out here," he continued quietly, waving his arm at the fading sky. It wasn't even a question anymore. "Imagine going outside, to fly every night. Up above everyone and the world." He let his head fall back, his gaze distant, lost among the storm clouds, picturing it. A smile curved his lips.

"No doubt." Snape watched him, and his own mouth twisted into a self-mocking smirk. "...Like a tea-tray in the sky."

 _That must've been from a book somewhere. Hermione would know._ Harry pictured a black shiny tray with a beaky teapot and stacks of delicate china, being levitated by a house-elf. Levitating tea trays were awkward; Snape was not. Nonetheless, Harry nodded. "Only you belong there. Tea-trays don't."

Snape's eyebrow lifted. "What makes you say this?"

"Everyone who can fly belongs here." Harry gestured among the clouds, and the sunset, and the sky. He bit his lip. "If I come here again… next time, I mean, will I see you?" He hoped so. He was even looking forward to it more than he expected.

"There won't be a next time," Snape intoned in dry tones and if he had his wand out, Harry almost even expected him to say Obliviate and be done with it. Was Snape also thinking of Obliviating Harry?

"I wouldn't tell anyone," Harry tried to reassure him. "It's just, I want to see you fly again and you obviously do want to fly too, so, what harm will it do to try again?"

There was an answering dry sigh. "You shouldn't count on it."

"What if I will anyway?"

Snape's eyes narrowed, dark like the sky. "Perhaps someday you can demonstrate what exactly you've learned about flying." He gave a flash of a smirk: quick and jagged as the lightning, and gone just as soon. "And if you ever thought of racing, don't count on winning. Now," Snape gathered his robes around himself like a vulture perched on the tallest branch. "Isn't it past your curfew?"

That one condescending look from Snape made Harry feel grounded and small and far too young. _Typical_. Even capable of flight, Snape managed to slither and taunt like a snake and remind Harry of his limits.

Harry backed away, mounted his broom, and left Snape be. Even though the Warming charm he cast long faded by now, it was curious how warm his chest felt while he flew back down to the castle entrance and then trekked all the way up to the Gryffindor tower.

* * *

"Just think, Harry, we could've been Aurors by now. Aurors!" Ron groaned and collapsed over the stacks of books on the study table in the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione lifted her gaze from Advanced Arithmancy, blew a strand of her hair out of her eyes, and gave him a stern glare. "And what would you do if you ever need another job without any record of taking N.E.W.T.s, Ron? Or do you think they're going to offer you those on the silver platter as well?"

"Just saying. Aurors would've been a wicked way to spend this year. Anything but all these books."

Harry tuned out their bickering and stared into the fireplace. The crackling flames were captivating. Somehow his mind returned to the vision of Snape rising with ease through the air. Of the soft snow settling gently over the folds of Snape's cloak. Bright, fluffy snowflakes tangled in Snape's hair. Had he always had that streak of grey? It must be new. The silence was all around them, silence and wintry skies, and the castle courtyard far below. The two of them laid eyes on the new snow before the flakes ever touched the ground and melted into it.

"Harry, are you even listening to me?" Hermione's voice broke through his daydream. "What's the matter with you lately? As I was saying, good Defence marks will be crucial for your career. You should ask Professor Merrythought for additional assignments. You too, Ron."

"More homework?" Ron groaned. "I can't finish what I've got. Look, Harry's all glassy-eyed from reading as it is. Aren't you, mate?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and then reached out and flipped the book on Harry's lap the right side up. "I can see he's trying _so_ hard, Ron. Honestly, I can't trust you two to do something as basic as studying," she ranted. "Harry's marks have taken a horrible dive lately, and don't even get me started on yours, Ron."

"That's good because I still need help with that Transfiguration assignment."

"How many times have I told you not to leave it to the last second?" Hermione carried on.

Harry rose from his seat carefully, setting the book down. He was holding it for quite a while and still couldn't bring himself to start reading. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm going to go…" The firelight and the daydream kept him in a daze. He just wanted to hide somewhere quiet and dark, maybe in the bed upstairs with curtains closed. Or maybe he wanted to revisit the magic of that meeting, the giddiness of the moment, the excitement and the quiet reverie of the snow fall all around them. Of Snape's subtle, brilliant flight.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "It's like herding cats. I swear! Getting you to sit down with a book for a second is near impossible. Next Sunday, you will catch up! Even if it kills me."

Harry nodded, fleeing and leaving dejected Ron alone with the book stacks under Hermione's vigilant eye.

Recently he stumbled in on them discussing getting a flat together in London, after the N.E.W.T.s were all done. It was awkward to walk in on that, even as both of them assured him he'd always have a place to spend the night or the odd week whenever he needed a place to stay and a friendly ear.

He pictured them both looking at flats during hols. Discussing furniture and dishes. By all rights, Harry should be doing the same with someone special as well. But there wasn't anyone. Not since the war. Ginny was back with Michael Corner and Harry was still just as welcome at the Weasleys' as ever, and it wasn't nearly as awkward as it should've been. Anyway, that was that.

As he climbed the staircase up, Harry caught a bit of Ron and Hermione's distant chatter.

"Don't you think he's been acting odd lately?"

"Who, Harry? Leave him alone. He needs his space."

"Wouldn't you rather be sure he's all right? He's our friend, Ron! He'd do the same for you."

"Well, you can't jump at every shadow. What're you going to do, personally hunt him down and pour Veritaserum down his throat?"

"If he isn't going to talk to me about it, maybe I should!"

"Ri-ight. Don't you think you're overreacting just a bit?"

The voices died down as Harry took another few steps. He took a deep breath and released it. _I_ _ **have**_ _been hiding something from them._ _I'm happy to tell them_ , Harry thought, _but it's not my secret to tell. This means I have to keep quiet, for Snape's sake._

 _He's already told me he doesn't want anyone to know he goes flying. I'm lucky he didn't Obliviate me. He'd hex me to pieces if a word ever gets out._

 _Yeah, best not._

* * *

Next evening after supper, Harry grabbed his broom without hesitation, put on his winter robes for the wind, pulled his scarf up to his ears, and headed up to the familiar tower. The day had been sunny, unlike yesterday, but colder than before.

He squinted at the flock of gargoyles, sitting perfectly still, each with a fluffy dusting of white on top of its curled wings, the result of last night's snow. Judging by that, no one had been here since then. The snow had melted a bit on the sunny side: sharp icicles studded the edge of the parapet like jagged teeth. The tower was empty, with the wind echoing through it like a wolf's howl. Apparently, Snape wasn't keen on flying every evening. Or maybe he had far too much to do today to spend time coming here and showing off in front of an audience. Or maybe he found a different spot to fly, without Harry around.

And still, Harry stayed there, for a good half hour, holding onto that one bit of hope.

When the moon rose high over the Forbidden Forest, lighting the clearing before Hagrid's Hut, Harry was certain Snape wouldn't be making it out tonight, but instead of heading down he chanced landing on the familiar ledge. His boots touched the pristine snow cover leaving dark prints. Harry let the broom float at his side and spread his arms. _How did Snape do this again?_ He stared straight ahead. _He doesn't even jump before he just… rises. I can barely make it work with a leap._ He closed his eyes and focused but when he opened them, he still stood grounded on the solid platform of stone and snow.

 _Right then._ Harry tensed and gathered himself for a long leap. _Here goes…_

 _One… two… three._

He landed a second too late and slid on an icy patch. _Shit._ The broom stayed beside him and he grabbed it as he flailed to stay upright. His fingers curled around the familiar polished wooden handle. _Fine. I'm not leaping off that ledge any time soon. Looks like it's you and I for a while longer._

 _Speaking of flying down, I probably should be heading back._ Harry mounted his broom and shuddered against the chill. _Brr._ The starry sky and the open air may have been beautiful, but he could barely feel his nose and ears, even with all the Warming charms. He cast one final look behind him as he steered the broom down. The gargoyles looked like a flock of frozen vultures, huddled one beside another, covering themselves with their wings. Even they looked affected by the weather _. I'm not disappointed,_ Harry told himself. _What is there to be disappointed about? Just because I missed seeing Snape tonight? That's OK._

 _I'll be back._

And he was. On the next day, Harry flew up from the courtyard and blinked at the sight of the second pair of footprints on the snow ledge, right by Harry's flailing attempt to fly yesterday. Apparently, someone had walked up here during the day to examine the evidence, shuffled a bit on one spot, and then walked right back, to the patch of the stone floor without the dusting of snow.

 _Had to be Snape_ , Harry told himself, with a grin stretching the corners of his mouth. _It has to be him!_ He didn't have Potions today so he hadn't seen the greasy sod all day, but the sight of the footsteps pointing towards Harry's own made his entire body feel lighter. As if they'd both stood there on the ledge at the same time. As if Snape had been present during Harry's frantic leap and witnessed it all.

 _He'd say 'easy, Potter!' And then his hand would steady me. And I'll grab it and hold on. I'd say 'thanks', and it wouldn't just be thanking him for catching me, but for everything else he's done. Because he deserves thanking. I never really did thank him, did I?_

 _I'll keep coming back,_ Harry told himself. _At some point, he has to be here and I'll catch him alone and we'll talk. I have so much to tell him. It's just a matter of waiting now._

After the fifth day of waiting in the chill atop a turret, Harry began to see the futility of his plan. Warming charms could only last so long in the wintry weather. Snape clearly wasn't planning on repeating his rooftop adventure any time soon. Aside from catching Snape outside, there weren't many ways to talk to him alone and the most reliable way to do so required some extra thought.

 _Detention isn't hard to get. Detention with Snape though… How can I get detention without mouthing off to Snape in person or catching him on a bad day and waiting for him to punish me for breathing? That's the trouble._ Harry wanted an excuse to talk to him, but he wasn't completely suicidal. If he just caused a stir in the hallways, that'd be an easy evening wasted with a random teacher. That wasn't good enough. He needed some better ideas, and quick.

In the end, Harry approached Hagrid for help. He sat in Hagrid's hut, on the rough wooden stool that was still too large for him. A rock cake soaked up Hagrid's tea and Harry held it up as he kept dunking it into the giant teacup to make it palatable enough before taking a small bite.

"Hagrid, I need a favour. You can't ask what it's for."

"Of course. What do ye have in mind?"

"I need detention, with Snape."

Hagrid shrugged and reached for his umbrella. "Just one day, 'Arry?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

Hagrid chewed his lip and glanced at Harry with his warm stare. "Yer sure?"

"'Course I'm sure."

"Well then. We'd best be clever about it," Hagrid looked thoughtful. "A Hogwarts teacher can't be going around handing out detentions to students willy-nilly. Hm. All right then. Three points from Gryffindor for being late to class today, again…"

"Hey!"

"... and one evening's detention. With Professor Snape, at his earliest convenience," Hagrid announced as if dictating notes in class. "How's that? Good?"

Harry thought of the faraway paddock in which Hagrid kept the Thestrals' food for the winter. There was no possible way for anyone to reach Hagrid in time. Not after the bell rang. "You didn't have to take the points off!" he protested meekly.

"Too harsh?" Hagrid winced. "Now, you asked, remember, and we need a believable explanation."

"We're already behind Slytherin this year," Harry grumbled. "Every point counts. But otherwise, s'fine. Thanks."

"What made you ask for this?" Hagrid cast Harry shrewd stare. "Are you up to something improper?"

 _Improper?_ Harry let out a strained laugh. "Ha! Yeah, that's it. You got me right there. Snape and I. In the storeroom, late at night. What else can I do, those Potions marks won't fix themselves," he deadpanned. He snorted at the absurdity of it all and added, noticing Hagrid's wide-eyed stare: "Can you imagine? He'd murder me for trying. I won't need detention ever again."

Hagrid added another log to the fire. "If you were up to something improper," he said evenly, "I reckon I'd have to take more than three points from Gryffindor, and then assign detention with Headmistress McGonagall instead. So you can 'ave a proper chat about the rules about that sort o' thing while you're at it, aye? I don't see how you would try anything like that though, 'Arry. Doesn't seem at all like you."

Harry sighed. Improper meant so many things. He didn't think watching Snape fly was improper. Neither was planning to catch him if he fell. But trouble was, Harry's imagination didn't stop at that one valiant rescue. He kept wondering how it would feel to try flying with Snape, together. Snape would be there to hold him up if needed. But first, Snape would hover in that looming manner and extend one arm to invite Harry up into the air. Their eyes would meet and Harry'd feel himself rising to Snape's level, and then they'd both be circling each other, light as a feather. The daydream went on and on and soon enough his cheeks were burning.

"Hmm?" Hagrid peered at him.

"Nothing improper! I swear!" Harry stammered and bolted out the door. After all, he now had detention to serve. Hagrid watched him go and shook his head, two empty cups in his hands and a pile of rock cakes sitting forgotten in the clay bowl on the table.

"What in Merlin's beard is the lad up to now?" Hagrid scratched his head and muttered to himself. "Detention, of all things! ...I probably shouldn't've done that."

* * *

Detention with Snape at the earliest convenience meant two days from now.

The lights in the dungeon were dim, and a dozen steps or so separated Harry from Snape who settled in the corner with a book, at peace with his reading like only one other person Harry knew: Hermione in the library. It would almost seem cosy if it wasn't for the slimy things in jars on the shelves on Harry's left.

Harry was scrubbing cauldrons again and the water was scalding hot. He tried not to look too pleased with the outcome. After all, it wouldn't be wise to stir Snape's suspicion of his motives and get thrown out of the dungeon in five seconds flat.

"Enlighten me, Potter." Snape licked his index finger and made a show of flipping a page, with his finger extended as if swiping a speck of dust off the side of a polished cauldron. The page bent and turned, with the slightest of rustles. "Why are you here?"

 _I was late to Hagrid's class,_ Harry thought of saying, but that was such an obvious lie, and so instead he took a deep breath and confessed exactly why he had to see Snape today. "Showing up in your office would just get people asking stupid questions, what with all the Slytherins patrolling the halls. And I needed a reason to talk to you. Alone."

"You do. What is this regarding?" Snape's head tilted and his beady-black stare bored into Harry, pinning him like a preserved butterfly in a display frame.

"Um." Harry took a deep breath. There was something he needed to tell Snape for a while now. Something he was afraid to say. Something important.

Professor Merrythought's class rushed to his mind. Dean with the Forgetmenot in his hand.

 _"Kill me like you killed him, you coward -"_

"I called you a coward once." Harry stammered, suddenly tongue-tied. "Before everything. I'm so sorry about that."

Snape's expression remained carefully flat, showing not a twinge of emotion of any kind.

"I didn't know," Harry added. "Now that I do know what you did, I… I'm really sorry I ever thought that," And now once he started talking, more words came pouring out and his heart was suddenly alive and thrashing in his chest. It was all a furious rush, because this may have been the most important thing Harry had ever said to Snape. "You're not a coward, not even a bit. What you did in the war, for us, for me, is… no one can repay that. You're one of the bravest people I know."

Snape rose to his feet, setting the book aside. He strode forward and stopped in front of Harry, regarding him with an expression that was warmer than usual, gentler than it had ever been. For a brief moment, there was only silence, as all-encompassing as that night on the rooftop and Harry could almost feel the pinpricks of snow settling on his cheeks again and Snape's dark stare amid it all.

"You actually mean that," Snape stated, and he sounded almost uncertain, surprised by what he'd just seen. There was a short, sharp intake of breath from Snape as Harry stood and circled a giant copper cauldron to stand in front of Snape, face to face. Snape seemed… almost cautious.

"Yes," Harry breathed. "You were a right git, you always were. But at the same time, there were all those times when you weren't one." Harry could count them on the fingers of one hand, but those were the moments that mattered. It was what prompted him to change his mind about Snape, to argue for his fate in front of the Wizengamot, and to fight tooth and nail for his early release. "Turned out you weren't who I thought you were."

One dark brow lifted at Harry's confession. Snape's lips thinned, briefly. "So sorry to disappoint."

"I'm not disappointed, Professor. Not at all." He let out a cautious breath and willed himself to stand taller so he could meet Snape's eye, like a man, telling another man: "I'm honoured."

A flicker of open astonishment ran across Snape's face. His eyes narrowed. His stare remained, burning, questioning, about as comfortable as a pointed blade. "I don't understand."

The words fell from Harry's lips, the phrases he thought over in his head forever but couldn't quite put into speech. "It's an honour to know everything you've done for us. I'm proud to have helped you walk free. You deserve to be recognized for what you did. And thanked too. Thank you!"

He meant to shake Snape's hand, he really did. In his daydreams during his now daily waits up at that tower, Harry shook it many times, but it seemed almost anticlimactic for the intensity of the moment. Harry reached out then, and put his hands over Snape's arms, squeezing briefly, and halting. What he really wanted to do was wrap his arms around Snape in a strong hug, for everything, everything Snape lost and sacrificed, and kept denying himself over and over throughout his lonely life, but Harry couldn't possibly do that. Who'd ever think of hugging Snape?

Snape shuddered. His shoulders were incredibly stiff. He kept facing Harry, his stern features lit warmly in the candlelight. His profile was sharp, half in shadow, and Harry knew if he didn't gather the strength to do something right now to express that deep stir of excitement in his gut, he never would. So he didn't think. Snape's stare was directed right at him, studying, always studying, and he wasn't scowling for a change, and Harry couldn't bring himself to look away. He moved closer.

Snape smelled like smoke, and like potions. And a bit like melted snow: it snowed all day outside and clearly Snape took the time to make it out of the dungeon today. Maybe all the way to the courtyard, or maybe even up to that tower where Harry never seemed to catch him. Snape's hair framed his face just so. Harry couldn't help it then, he just leaned in on instinct. And the weird thing was, the grumpy sod was right there, on Harry's level. Not even an inch taller, even though he always seemed so tall, towering over all of them in class. Must've been his posture or his mannerisms… but right now he was only as tall as Harry was. Maybe Harry had his last growth spurt and didn't notice, but it hardly mattered, because Snape's stare was alarmed but warm, and his lips were right there in front of Harry, parting. He must've been going to say something, only - now or never - Harry didn't give him a chance to say how much of an idiot Harry was, he just leaned in and sealed his lips over Snape's and everything stood still as they… was this a kiss? They were kissing. They really were. A nervous jolt ran through Harry like electroshock. That one brilliant moment when even his heart froze in his chest was the longest between two heartbeats.

They both froze, for just a second. Only Snape recovered faster than Harry did, he shuddered all over and stepped back. And then Harry drew breath to speak and suddenly then Snape seemed six feet tall, towering over him like a dementor. His face was pale, features twisted with absolute fury. That's when Harry knew how much of a mistake it was to do what he did. Snape didn't even have to speak to let Harry know, but he did speak, and what he said next was terrifying, because it was so cold, so toneless, and so final.

"Get. Out!" Snape spat it out and Harry didn't stay around to see what would happen next, he just ran, and ran, until Snape could no longer see him. Until the chill in his chest and the ache in his throat were no longer a novelty. Until his lungs burned with exhaustion from racing full flights of stairs, as well as with the shock of realization.

 _I've made a terrible mistake._

 _He'll hate me for it._

 _All because I made the wrong move._

 _All because I couldn't help but take a risk._

 _And it was absolutely the wrong thing to do. It hurt him because I broke his trust and he doesn't forgive something like that. I'll never be able to face him again._

 _Might as well leave Hogwarts right now. No way I'll get that Potions N.E.W.T. But who cares about that? Snape will never talk to me again! Fuck!_

Harry raced through Hogwarts corridors, barely breathing. He had to get away, somewhere, outside. Anywhere, with an open sky and fresh air. Where he could soar and scream and maybe even forget today for a while. _What was I thinking? Oh, bloody hell! I wasn't thinking!_

Harry was so bloody frustrated with Snape being a paranoid sod. How could anyone argue with Snape when he was in a mood like that? With those snarling remarks and with that stare. _It just stops you in your tracks._ But the thing was, Harry knew, things were much more dire than Snape being in one of his moods. A stab of realisation spiked through his chest and didn't quite let go. Harry put his arms around himself, frozen still with the bitter finality of the moment, that everything he'd said to Snape today was now in vain. Because the paranoid git would never allow himself to believe any of it. Not after what Harry tried to do.

Not after what he did.

 _It's over, isn't it? It's all over._

* * *

"Harry, I'm worried about you! You haven't turned in your homework again. You missed Potions today. And where were you last night? You should be studying!"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, blinking through a grey haze. His head felt heavy, his mouth dry. He went to sleep last night with his face pressed against a wet pillowcase. He didn't sleep well.

"I'll be frank, whoever's distracting you from your studies, shouldn't! It's never a good idea. They need to think of your future! Of their own!"

 _What is she talking about? 'They'? Like, someone special 'they'?_

Harry snorted bitterly. "Hermione, I promise you, there's no one distracting me. No one at all, really."

She sighed, sliding her hand over his shoulder briefly and squeezing. Her hand was warm. "You're clearly not yourself, and if you won't tell Ron and me what's going on, how can we help you?"

 _Some things can't be helped. That's just the way they are. No matter how much I want them to be otherwise._ Harry took a deep breath and forced his mouth into a smile. His throat was still tight for some reason, making his voice hoarse. "You of all people have to stop listening to gossip, yeah? I promise I am not pining after anyone, no one has got me under a love spell, and I'm definitely not rushing off to meet a mysterious crush at the Astronomy tower every night."

She sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. "You're hurting. What else am I supposed to think?"

"That I need some time on my own?"

"During your N.E.W.T.s year? Harry! This is not a time to be distracted."

 _I'm not distracted. It's just over. I've made a mistake._

"And what was with you being absent the other night? Hagrid would never give you detention, much less detention with Snape! What is going on?"

Harry's heart seized at that. At the memory of Snape's bony form under his hands, at the feel of his dry lips against Harry, for that one bare second, before everything ended and Harry couldn't do anything else but run.

"What if something was going on? What could you do? Huh? Nothing! Not a thing. There's nothing anyone can do now, so leave it, Hermione!" Harry turned on his heel stormed out of the Common room.

His head was throbbing, his eyes watery, stinging with tears. He needed time and space to think. He needed… no, what he needed was to stay far far away from Snape.

 _What would it hurt to come down and check if he's in his office, just for tonight?_

Harry shook his head.

 _He said 'Get out'! I can't just talk to him._

 _I'm not going to go in. I won't even knock. I just want to see if he's there. I'll be able to see light in the crack under the door. Just for a bit. Maybe I'll even see a shadow moving._

Harry clenched his fists hating himself for even thinking it but his feet already carried him toward the dungeon.

* * *

Holiday madness was beginning to overtake the castle with its own festive cadence. Everything and everyone sped up in a whirlwind rush. Headmistress McGonagall counted days, hours, and seconds before the winter break. If even a cat couldn't indulge in a spot of daydreaming while licking her hindquarters clean now and then, well then who at Hogwarts would ever have peace and quiet?

A screech of the turning staircase and a knock on her office door interrupted her reminiscence. It must have been a student, likely in trouble. Though at this hour? Unlikely. In haste, she transfigured back into human form.

"Headmistress?"

 _Ah, of course._ "Ms. Granger! Come in. Tea?"

Granger shook her head.

Headmistress McGonagall motioned at the seat in front of her and stifled a yawn. She was dreadfully tired, marking the fifth year Transfiguration essays until the wee hours of the morning. The new hire, Miss Fletchley, needed all the help he could get, poor dear.

"I need to talk. To someone."

Granger was unusually pale, her lip bitten. Gryffindor's best student had little reason to worry about grades but, knowing her... _It's N.E.W.T.s, has to be. Already? Oh poor dear. And the school year is not even halfway over._ "What can I help you with?"

"Yes. I have a hypothetical question..." Granger fidgeted.

 _Definitely N.E.W.T.s…_ "Hm?"

"If I told you a friend was in trouble because they did something unwise, maybe even dangerous, what would you do?"

 _I can't see what could possibly cause such concern. Perhaps she has helped someone in Gryffindor cheat on an exam and is now worried about it. Best get to the bottom of this quick._ "I'd ask you to explain, and then we'd sort it out." Headmistress McGonagall said calmly. "Now, Ms. Granger. What's wrong?"

Granger exhaled noisily, shaking her full head of curls. "Um. Well, if we're being honest. I think he's got in completely over his head and I don't know what to do to help him and I tried to, but he won't listen to me and…"

"Well? Out with it."

"Harry's in trouble!" Miss Granger blurted, her hands raised to her temples. "I mean, I don't have proof, but I'm all but certain he is! I've been watching him and it's terrible but..."

"What is going on? Miss Granger, you may say anything that concerns -"

"He must be sleeping with a teacher!"

Headmistress McGonagall choked on her tea. The resulting bout of cough rattled the shelves and shifted the quills on the tabletop.

"I don't know what else to think. I really don't. There's no other explanation. Are you all right?" Hermione asked.

Headmistress McGonagall was, in fact, far from all right. She considered Harry Potter, almost always flanked by Granger and Weasley, now rehashing the same seventh-year curriculum as the youngest Weasley girl, Ginevra. Despite Miss Granger's efforts, Harry Potter couldn't care less about homework or about excelling in class.

Headmistress McGonagall summoned the records and tapped the book with her wand to open on the right page. Potter's record looked as varied as his interests. "I need the affected subject of study. Quickly now."

Granger blinked. "I…"

"Well, out with it. I'll have to inspect the marks immediately since there's a conflict of interest. Until the matter is sorted." Headmistress narrowed her eyes and looked down the neat rows of marks. "What has he gotten himself into? Flying? Astronomy? Surely not Herbology! Transfigurations?" Miss Fletchley was quite young and inexperienced as a teacher. It was an absolute mistake to let her have such a demanding position… _But what else could it be? And_ _please don't say Care of Magical Creatures!_

Granger looked very small and very distraught for someone so calm and even-headed in class. "Potions."

Headmistress McGonagall blinked. She peered at her student over the top of the charmed records. _Potions? Really?_ Outwardly she kept her drew a line with a wand across the sad line of letters for his Potions essays so far: a long row of 'Acceptable's broken only by 'Poor's.

"Hm, he certainly isn't doing it for marks," she stated the obvious. If anything, her intervention would benefit Harry Potter's outcome in that class.

"Of course not!" Granger exploded in panicked babbling. "I don't know why he's doing anything these days. I can't understand him, It's like he's lost any common sense. Ron says he left the dorms around midnight again, and one day he doesn't want to hear anything about it, and the other he just sits there and stares at the wall. He hasn't had supper with us for a week!"

"Thank you for telling me. I'll sort it out. It's going to be alright, Miss Granger. I promise."

"Headmistress. Just, can you not tell him I said anything?"

Headmistress McGonagall strode over to the frazzled young woman and patted her shoulder. "Everything spoken in this office is confidential. You did the right thing, Ms. Granger, entrusting me with this delicate matter. Don't worry. I'll take care of it promptly." _Merlin's beard, can't this school have one day of peace?_ She inhaled deeply. _Calm, now._ She steered a relieved-looking Granger toward the door.

On the wall, Albus Dumbledore's portrait stirred. "Turbulent times, Minerva. These call for compassion and courage."

"Some help you are," she grumbled. "Do be quiet now! I have an urgent matter to settle first." She narrowed her eyes at him and regarded him with a stern stare over her reading glasses. "Needless to say, he's _your_ hire."

"Psh. I don't recall hiring him the second time." Albus responded with an airy wave. "I must give credit where credit is due, my dear girl."

"Hmph." _...If there's any truth to what Ms. Granger just said... if there's_ any _truth at all. Which there can't possibly be since Severus has made an Unbreakable Vow not to harm a single student._

 _Oh Harry, what have you gotten yourself into?_


	6. The Unravelling

**5\. The Unravelling**

Minerva took a flight of stairs to the dungeons. She transformed swiftly mid-step and covered the rest of the distance as a cat, leaping over two stairs in one go. As she turned the corner, she thought she glimpsed something much larger than herself brushing past her with a breeze. It smelled like Gryffindor tower, and when she leaned in, she swore she almost felt a sweep of fabric against her whiskers.

 _Odd._

She followed the smell and the sound of someone's footsteps all the way up to the Gryffindor tower until she saw the portrait of the Fat Lady swinging quietly open.

Minerva waited until the portrait swung shut again and only then approached it, back in human form. She tapped her finger gently against the frame. "There's no need to let me in," she muttered. "But I do require your full cooperation in regards to an urgent matter. Who was the last student to enter just now?"

The Fat Lady, who was just settling in for a nap, regarded her with sleepy stare as she jolted awake. "Harry Potter, of course," she said. "The boy seemed rather distraught, poor dear."

 _So it is true. Harry is in trouble._ Minerva put her hand to her mouth. She cautioned herself from marching inside immediately to get to the bottom of this. Rushing into things hotheaded in the middle of the night never led to anything good.

 _I must speak with Harry first thing, but not like this. I must think this through first._

It was a long time before Minerva returned to her quarters and fell asleep that night and her sleep, all two hours of it, was extremely troubled.

* * *

That evening Severus sat and stared into the flames, with a whisky glass at hand. Two fingers' width of liquid to warm his soul swirled slowly at the bottom: the perfect thing to take his mind off what he desperately did not want to think about. The last time he saw Harry Potter. The moment when everything changed.

Severus shuddered. His shoulders were stiff. Harry's features were warmed by the candlelight, his eyes shining with something akin to determination. What was he up to now? Severus tilted his head, hoping to catch a hint of an explanation in the lad's expression.

* * *

Harry smelled like the open skies. His hair was tousled by the wind, his cheeks reddened as if he'd just won a race. As if he'd descended from the sky all the way down to Severus' dungeon, a victor brushing past the accolades for the sole purpose of invading Severus' solitude.

He seemed taller than before, didn't even have to tilt his head up to look Severus right in the eye. His shoulders were wider than Severus' and it would even be noticeable had Severus done something as foolish as discarding his cloak. He wrapped it firmer around himself, like a shield. Like a cover. The lad was silent and so was Severus, waiting for the outcome of this odd interlude. Harry's hands were raised toward Severus as if he tried to attempt something foolish like a hug. Severus parted his lips to say "What is it, Potter?" when something unpredictable happened and Harry leaned in, sealing his lips over Severus, as soft and gentle as Gryffindors never were.

Like a sweep of a single feather, which knocked all the breath out of Severus nonetheless.

A blissful moment of peace, before the rage of realisation flooded him in a bitter wave, seeping into his every pore like embalming fluid. _This is a prank. It's been a prank all along. Who's ever thought I was worth thanking?_

It was then, in that shocking moment where everything in Severus' world had become clear at last, that tore himself away from Harry and reared back like a striking serpent. "Get. Out."

He meant every word. He wanted no part of this farce, which is the only thing it could've been. After all, who'd ever thought Severus' presence in their life was an honour?

 _Nobody._

 _Not a single soul._

* * *

"Severus, my boy."

In his seat by the fire, Severus stirred. He must've fallen asleep here last night. He glanced at the empty whisky glass by his side. His mouth felt like someone had stuffed a sock in it.

One large blue eye peered from the miniature sketch of the lily-of-the-valley plant in Snape's quarters. "I would appreciate it if you remove the Silencing spell from one of the pictures in your office. I do need to speak with you. It's rather urgent."

Severus aimed his wand at the frame, a moment of uncertainty stopping him from Vanishing the picture completely.

"Speak," he commanded. "You have thirty seconds."

"Young Harry once mentioned he's lost some of your memories…"

Severus' lip curled. "What of it?"

"It so happens I may help fill the gap. Now, Severus, please, don't put an old man through such an ordeal. My poor knees can only take so much. Isn't there anywhere I can rest?"

 _Meddling old coot. As if any of it is about the state of his blasted joints._ Severus snarled the counter-spell, aiming not at the sketch of the plant but at the picture of the alchemical equipment above the fireplace. A few seconds later, Dumbledore walked into the picture, resting by the table. His purple gown clashed with every painted drop of liquid as well as the grey frame.

"Ahh. Much better. Now, we did leave things off rather unfinished, didn't we? I was hoping I'd get a chance to speak with you, especially in light of current events. No matter what happens from now on forward, my boy, please know -"

"Get to the point," Severus snapped. The very last thing he was in the mood for on a bad morning such as this was to indulge portraits, and especially this particular portrait of a meddlesome man who ruled over his life for so long.

"You're missing memories which were of particular importance, am I correct? I suspect they're about Harry. Some of the memories lost may never be recovered. I imagine this isn't easy for you to accept. I am truly sorry."

"Go on," Severus let out through clenched teeth.

Dumbledore's stare was bright and clear, brighter than any flask, any phial on the table. "I've never said this but... It's truly difficult for me to do this, Severus. Speak with you, especially under such dreadful circumstances of my death. I've never had children, you see, but out of all teachers at Hogwarts, you are someone I would have wanted to call a son."

Severus crossed his arms and dug his fingers into the flesh of his own bicep. This wasn't a conversation he was prepared to have with a portrait. Tobias Snape was a lousy father, but Severus didn't want to think how different his life would have been under Dumbledore's particular brand of manipulative care. "About Potter," he tried to steer the conversation back on track.

"Yes, about Harry," the portrait signed. "I've watched you closely throughout the time you acted as the Headmaster of this school. There were a few particular moments that stand out. If I recall, your change of heart toward Harry was particularly influenced by his complete Hogwarts record, particularly the account of his stay at his aunt's house, prior to his acceptance to Hogwarts and during summer holidays. You may want to revisit those if you're looking for a place to start your search."

 _Some help you are._ "Is this all?" Severus questioned the portrait.

"For now. Yes. Now if you don't mind a word of further advice -"

"Silencio!"

Dumbledore's portrait gestured from his spot at the table with all the alchemical equipment.

Severus rose from his chair and strode out of the room. He restrained himself from banishing the portrait, resorting to dimming the lights to convey the message.

This conversation was over, for now.

 _I told him to get out and now he's missing lectures._ _This is madness. Sheer madness. I must get to the bottom of this, but where do I start? Perhaps at the beginning. With what I do know._ As he paced along the wall of his rooms, Snape rubbed his temples. He couldn't very well categorize what he didn't know, but he could sort out what he knew. _There's a pattern to the memories I'm missing. I suspect - I_ know _\- they're all about Potter._

 _With the memories I have, I should think of him as an annoying student, a burden. Perhaps a curse. That is not the case. I can only assume that the memories I've surrendered to him in the Shrieking Shack, were something significant, something I wanted to preserve. Something I was prepared for him to witness._

An unsettling thought crept into his mind. _Has he ever tried to kiss me before and I lost all memory of what happened alongside the other memories I lost?_

 _No. Impossible. This is absurd. Paranoid even for me. He wouldn't be able to hide something like this for so long. Potter is an open book when it comes to emotions._

He sighed, pacing jerkily along the wall of his bedroom like a caged animal. The pacing was a habit, a nervous one, something he'd deliberately stopped himself doing in front of others but not a mannerism he eliminated from his life altogether, like his Muggle father's accent, like the awkward hunch to his shoulders - in a pit of vipers, who could ever afford to look smaller?

 _Right, I must focus on what I know. On what I feel._

 _I may not understand what happened, but somehow Potter is someone I'm honoured to have protected. More than honoured. Impossible as it sounds._

 _Potter is more than a student. More than a boy-hero. More than Lily's son._

 _I am fond of him._

 _How preposterous!_

 _I am truly fond of him._

Severus stopped in his tracks, running his hand through his greasy hair. Taking deep breaths to calm down.

 _That, as things stand, is unacceptable._

Severus shoved that thought down, down, down. Under the safety of his mental shields. There it remained, compartmentalized and left unaddressed, until the time he'd need it again.

 _Might as well start my day early. I will review his full record tonight after my last lecture. I hope it will help fill the gaps. And then, as I learn how this turn of events came to be, I will also know how to undo it._

With a clear plan, Severus strode out the door, at last, not sparing another glance at the empty painting over the fireplace.

* * *

Harry turned the corner, following the murmur of Ron's and Hermione's frantic whispering until the murmur was broken by Ron's "Bloody hell!" startling Harry into walking faster to catch up. He supposed he should appear at breakfast. Otherwise, Ron and Hermione would start with all the questions again.

"You did _what_? For someone so clever, you really don't know how to stay out of other people's business!"

Ron's eyes were wide, and his gestures animated. He looked about as calm as Professor Trelawney encountering the Grim in her own teacup.

"Hush!" Hermione reached out for one of his raised hands. "Come on. Oh," she glanced behind her spotting Harry and back to Ron. "Harry!" she announced with a tone so cheerful, it was clearly fake. Her eyes narrowed and a series of frantic glances and raised brows between her and Ron betrayed something that Harry failed to understand.

"Did you have a fight again?"

"It's a difference of opinion. Unimportant," Hermione announced, overriding Ron's stammering. _Whatever that was about..._

"Potter?" A Hufflepuff first year dove out of the morning crowds, looking up all awestruck and squeaking out: "Headmistress McGonagall wants to see you. As early as possible. So, um, after breakfast?"

"Whoa, Hermione, wonder what _that's_ about?" Ron mumbled, and his pointed stare met Hermione's guilty one.

"What?" Harry blinked. "All right." He turned to Ron and Hermione. "I'm going to go now. Not too terribly hungry anyway."

"Wait," Hermione exclaimed, reaching for Harry's shoulder. "Ron and I are going with you. Clearly, something's the matter."

"No, no, you go on," Harry waved her off. "I'll find you before Transfigurations. Explain to Professor Fletchley if I'm delayed, yeah?"

"We will, mate." Ron nodded. Hermione sighed and stepped back, as Ron's hand settled firmly on her shoulder.

Harry shrugged and turned toward the corridor leading to the Headmistress' office. _Ron's right. What was that all about?_

He reckoned he'd find out soon enough.

* * *

"Mr. Potter. Do come in. Please, sit."

"Yes, Headmistress." Harry peeked in between the heavy doors which swung open as soon as he stepped up to them. At the centre of the Headmistress' office, McGonagall sat at her desk, surrounded by neat piles of paperwork. Grey morning light fell through the parted curtains, offset by the floating candles. It softened Headmistress McGonagall's features, made them a bit less stern. A fluffy owl feather quill rested at her side, fine filaments moving on the breeze as she looked up from a piece of parchment.

Harry took a few more steps toward the desk and stopped when he got past the chair which moved to accommodate him at the flick of Headmistress McGonagall's wand. On the wall, the portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts slept soundly, Albus Dumbledore was among them, his white beard streaming like a silvery waterfall across the canvas of dimmer hues.

"Mr. Potter." Headmistress McGonagall shrewd stare focused on Harry over the small oval frames of her reading specs and Harry forgot all about the portraits in her office. "Do you know why I called you here?"

 _Don't look up. Whatever I do, I mustn't look at her._ Harry kept staring at the surface of the desk, keeping his arms crossed over his chest. _Ohshit. She knows,_ crossed his mind as a desperate thought which prompted a shudder and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. _Snape must've told her exactly what I've done._

 _But so what if she does? It doesn't really matter. Nothing matters._

 _They can expel me for all I care._

"Harry?" Headmistress McGonagall sighed. "Judging by the reports I've received from your teachers, you've missed far too many lectures recently. Is everything all right?"

Harry sank back into his chair, clutching at the armrests. "I'm not ill if that's what you are asking."

"Is there anything you wish to share with me? Any concerns a student may have are my responsibility to address, especially if they interfere with the progress of your studies here at Hogwarts."

Harry pressed his lips together and stared straight ahead, through the greying fog that threatened to flood his vision. His fingers dug into the armrests to the point where he felt the awful weight of the wooden slabs against his fingertips, almost unbearable. Like a door slammed shut, never to be opened again. A particular dungeon door which was ingrained into the surface of his mind, the one he stood across from every evening, hidden under his invisibility cloak, unwilling to move, whether to step forward or step away.

Unwilling to let go.

 _Snape's never going to let me back in. It's all over. He wouldn't tell the Headmistress if it wasn't._

 _She knows._

"Judging by the pattern of lectures missed by you recently, I am going to guess this has something to do with Professor Snape." Headmistress' McGonagall's voice was so gentle, despite the awful finality of it.

 _She knows exactly what happened._

 _I… can't talk about it. I can't!_

 _Snape told her everything._

Harry blinked and felt the heat in his face rushing down and inwards. There were heated pinpricks in his throat, in his eyes. His vision was blurry, watery.

He bit down on his lower lip and shook his head, staring at the edge of the desk where the worn wood shone with dark lacquer. Where the swirl of a carved petal met with the smooth profile of a cat.

"Yes." The word came out hoarse and sent a dull throb of pain through his throat. "I…"

Headmistress McGonagall leaned forward, her fingers steepled over the parchment in front of her. She didn't speak, just waited patiently, too patiently for Harry to swipe an angry back of his hand over his eyes, press his glasses back over the bridge of his nose, and continue. She absentmindedly waved her wand over the quill, transfiguring it into a pristine white handkerchief.

"Here."

Harry plucked it out of midair where it hovered and spent a long few seconds cleaning his glasses with it.

"It's not his fault," he stammered out at last. "Snape hasn't done anything. He didn't even know, when I…" He took a deep shuddering breath. _When I kissed him. I'm such an idiot._ "It was going so well too, we were talking. I was helping him, or trying to help at least! I wasn't planning, it's just he was there, and it happened. I am so, so sorry."

All was silent in Headmistress McGonagall's office, and the surrounding cabinets and the candlesticks in the corner and all the portraits on the wall blurred together in Harry's mind. He wrapped his fingers around his fisted hand. The ridges of the old scar under his fingertips, impossible to read now but Harry knew exactly what it said. _I must not tell lies._ Did what Harry just say count as lying then? He said he was sorry but it wasn't really an apology.

Despite the waves of sorrow, of heartbreak, Harry didn't regret what he did.

Would he do it again if he could? If he thought there was any chance at all that things might turn out differently between them?

 _Yes,_ Harry thought. _In a heartbeat._

Headmistress McGonagall leaned forward in her seat. Her stare was kind. "Enough of that, Harry. This is a difficult matter and you must forgive me that I haven't paid enough attention to notice you were having a difficult time earlier. If I had spoken with you in time, we may not be having this conversation today."

It was unexplainable. Unthinkable. McGonagall was apologising, to him. Over this. Harry exhaled shakily, his knees, his hands still shaking with sheer exhaustion of the situation. "I'm not… in trouble?"

"You have violated one of the rules of the school, yes, and one I cannot turn a blind eye to if it happens again. But at the moment, the reason for this conversation is my concern for you, not punishment," Headmistress McGonagall's mouth twisted, grew sterner. "However, if you miss another Potions lesson tomorrow, there will be consequences. Let us try to avoid that route, shall we?"

 _Avoid?_

"I must speak with Professor Snape as soon as possible regarding this matter," she informed Harry. "Usually, in situations such as these, we request that a memory of the event must be provided for the examination. I may still request one of you to provide it, depending on Professor Snape's side of the story. For now, however, I have heard everything I needed from you."

And then, Headmistress McGonagall stood up, from behind her chair, and as she rose, the handkerchief lifted from Harry's hands, rising and turning back into a quill, floating gently upwards toward the corner of her desk.

"Thank you for your honesty. If there is anything, _anything_ else you wish to say on the matter now is the time."

 _I'd give anything for him to kiss me back._

Harry bit his lip and stayed silent. If he couldn't ever tell Snape about it, then this particular confession wasn't for anyone else's ears. It won't help anyone if I ever voice it.

He faced the Headmistress with newfound determination and shook his head. "May I be excused?"

"Almost. Harry..."

"Yes?"

Headmistress McGonagall pulled off her reading glasses and met Harry's eye. "You mustn't give in to despair over one unfortunate event. You're a man with his whole life ahead of you. Things are rarely as hopeless as they may seem at first glance. We've all made our share of youthful mistakes. Take it from me, I've certainly made a few. And I'm still here to speak about them."

Harry stared at the quill on her desk which once had been a handkerchief. He blinked and released a cautious sigh. "Thank you."

She nodded with a gentle sigh. "You may go." Her hand rested briefly on Harry's shoulder and squeezed, in a gesture of comfort. "I know it doesn't seem like it at the moment, but it will all be all right in the end."

Harry didn't remember descending the staircase at all. It was all a blur. He turned into the nearest corridor and settled down in an alcove half-hidden behind the suits of armour. He buried his face in his hands and tried not to think anymore.

Everything was such a mess and he had no idea how to start fixing it.

* * *

Minerva had covered the distance from her office to the dungeons in a brisk run and transformed back just in front of Severus' office door. She quickly lifted her hand to knock.

At the first tap of her knuckles against the aged wood, the door swung open.

"Headmistress McGonagall? What a surprise. I was just on my way out." Severus' hair was in slight disarray and his stare was about as wild as if he had just lost a hectic race to contain the fumes of an exploded cauldron.

"Severus, we have a serious matter to discuss. Now."

He nodded and pointed his wand at the door, sealing it shut.

Minerva thought back on encountering the sweep of invisible fabric that smelled of a Gryffindor dormitory, of Ms. Granger's panicked confession, of Harry crying in her office - crying! - and didn't hold back her anger as she spat: "Enlighten me, what was Harry Potter doing here so late last night?" It wasn't a question as much as an outburst.

Severus drew himself up in a pose that looked just like the outrage of an innocent, accused. "Potter? I haven't seen Potter for days, which is alarming, considering he was absent during class! Again. If this continues I will have no other choice but to ask you to consider giving up on his education altogether."

Minerva strode forward, observing the man. He looked genuinely worried, and every bit as frustrated, with the situation. "I've had a series of alarming conversations regarding a troubling development which concerns you and Potter," she said, watching for any reaction to her words. "Furthermore, as I was coming down to the dungeon last night, I saw Potter flee from your office. He took great care to remain unseen. Severus," she continued quieter, in a sombre tone. "You must know how this looks. Thus, I must ask you again, was Potter here last night?"

Severus faced her, his expression neutral, stone cold, any emotion banished with the immediacy that made him such an effective spy once. Silent, he shook his head.

"I see." For a second, Minerva questioned whether she'd overreacted. Perhaps it was all a mistake. _Perhaps she was so tired this morning, she dreamed up the entire conversation with Potter's rattling confession. What wouldn't I give for this all to be a big misunderstanding! To laugh about it later when Rosmerta comes over for tea._

 _But maybe Granger has had one late night study session too many. Maybe, just maybe, things are not as serious as Granger implied._ Maybe Harry's side of the story was true and Severus was an innocent in all this… How could she tell?

Emboldened, she pressed on, determined to get to the bottom of this, and so she drew her breath and asked: "Will you give me your word that nothing beyond the usual interactions between a teacher and student have occurred between Potter and yourself?"

Something shifted in Severus' expression. A trick of the light as he pulled back deeper into the shadow.

 _Oh, Severus, I was wrong about you being worthy of atonement. What have you done? You're about to lie, or lie by omission, aren't you?_ "Well?"

Severus' eyes narrowed. "You've clearly made up your mind: regardless of what I say, it will damn me. But, for what it's worth..."

 _He's stalling. He has something to hide._

Minerva overrode him, channelling her anger into words. "This is a profound disappointment, if you must know. When I hired you, I expected competence and dedication. And a modicum of professionalism. Apparently, I was wrong."

"Headmistress, I'm…"

She drew a breath, raising her hand to the bridge of her nose. "These are students, as you seem to forget at times. Students, Severus! You do know that word well."

"I hardly need a reminder!"

"Then need I remind you of the rules of this school instead? We don't transfigure students, we don't spoil students, we don't poison students, and we certainly _don't_ encourage extremely ill-advised affairs!"

At that last outburst, he blinked as if someone had poked him in the ribs. His eyes were wide as he looked back at her. "What?" Severus spluttered. "I did not lay a finger on him!"

"I am well aware of that," Minerva interrupted. "You're still alive, aren't you? The Unbreakable Vow you took as part of your Hogwarts contract was designed to address unfortunate situations such as these. But what I don't understand is why you would ever encourage a student-"

"I've done nothing to encourage this! Nothing! The persistent little sod has been trying to -" he paused, looking lost, for a mere second, "- remind me of a lost skill. I indulged his efforts to help, but then the little monster attacked and kissed _me_ and…" He lifted his hands to his face to rub his temples and looked as if he was about to begin pacing.

Minerva drew herself to her full height, and asked quietly, trying to keep her anger out of her tone. "What did you do?"

"Certainly did _not_ transfigure or poison him. Or fuck him. What do you think I am? A monster? Lily," his voice trembled at the name, "his mother was my _friend_!"

 _Obviously more than a mere schooltime friend, with the way he speaks of her after all these years. And young Harry does have his mother's eyes,_ she thought, and immediately banished that thought with a pang of unease. _Although it's clear Severus mourns Lily still._

"I don't understand," Severus continued, his tone so utterly lost. She hadn't seen him so dazed in quite some time. "I don't know what came over him." His face twisted in a frown. "Perhaps I've overlooked something and things are more serious than I thought. How did I not think of this? He needs to be isolated and studied. Checked for a love potion at the very least!"

"Studied?" Minerva scoffed. "Severus! Are you listening to yourself?"

"Poppy may use an appropriate remedy from my personal stores. As soon as I turn in my resignation -" He looked her right in the eye and added, softer, "- if you will allow me to do that, before I am banished from the school grounds -"

Amid the strained situation, Minerva restrained an urge to laugh. Severus and his penchant for drama. "Banish you? Don't be ridiculous. We are shorthanded as is." At least what little she'd been able to get out of him did align with otter's sides of the story. Any typical fallout of Severus being this shocked by someone's actions would put even Potter off from repeating his mistake.

"Wait, what? You're not… taking measures?"

 _Not today, anyway._ Minerva arched her brow. "What measures are there to take?"

"Potter _kissed_ me! He's - Clearly, he is cursed. Or poisoned. Or worse! Something would've had to have addled his wits before he'd even think of such an act, but to go ahead and attempt it is another thing altogether!"

So frazzled was Severus, it made him look two decades younger. Minerva tried to keep the surprise off her face. He looked… human. Vulnerable. "You're looking too hard for the explanation: he's a young man and prone to grand moves, and you're… apparently, someone who he has taken an interest in, which is hardly a stretch of the imagination."

"How can you dismiss the obvious?" Severus spat. "He could've been cursed. What else would explain it?"

Minerva sighed. She had enough for one day. "Clearly this is a sensitive matter, but I fail to see anything wrong so far. Thus, I am not banishing you. Or sacking you. By the way, if you give Potter one more Troll mark in Potions, I will take away your ability to assign him marks altogether."

Snape drew himself up before her, his lip curled. "I am not about to skew one student's record for the sake of special treatment, even if that happens to be -"

"Harry Potter. Yes. Try to go easy on him. He's done nothing but help you since the battle. He's what, eighteen, and considering the evidence at hand, infatuated."

Severus' eyebrows rose up to his hairline. Minerva drew pride in being able to surprise the man into momentary silence. At last, he recovered, and asked: "You really believe he is infatuated? ... With _me_?"

For a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, Severus could be such an innocent. A dark curtain of hair covered the sides of his face; his pale nose twitched.

She allowed herself a pained smile, thinking back, on Harry asleep in the chair in St. Mungo's corridor. _He was smitten then too. I should have seen it earlier._ "You underestimate yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, Severus. I wish you could look in the mirror for once and actually face the truth."

"Without cracking it?" Severus spun on his heel and carried on with his pacing. "Ridiculous! What's the use? I know what I'd see."

 _Someone undeserving of affection._ That much was left unspoken.

Merlin, managing teachers was just as difficult as looking after the students. At least with Professor Fletchley hired on, Severus was no longer the youngest one of the staff. Headmistress McGonagall braced herself for a discussion with the poor dear, sooner rather than later, considering a gaggle of the bright-eyed Ravenclaws always trailing after her. (She never expected to have this conversation with Severus, knowing his reputation around Hogwarts.)

"A man trying his best." _Or possibly a rather trying man._ _Barely an adult from where she was standing, an amateur put in charge of the entire Hogwarts for a year by a monster._ "Take it from an elder, don't waste precious time beating yourself up when you can do something to make a difference in the world."

Severus stopped in his tracks and looked at her. Something shifted in his features.

"And don't let Potter's actions sway your attitude. You are, first and foremost, his teacher, and thus, _you_ are in control. You must remain in control. And as someone with the grave responsibility of guiding a challenging student, you must continue to do your best. As we all do. However," she added softer, "Do try to keep in mind you are here to teach him Potions, not common sense."

There was a huff of something coming from Severus. _Relief? Mirth?_

"You are excellent at presenting this subject well, if you allow yourself to relax in front of an audience and trust at least some of them to listen." That earned her a surprised look. "With Professor Slughorn insisting on his well-earned retirement, there is no one else I would have in your place. You are, reluctant though I am to admit it, our best option."

Severus' stance wasn't as stiff-shouldered. He carried himself, as if, for the first time during our conversation, he didn't think of himself as a dead man walking.

Minerva braced for the next part, reminding herself that as a Headmistress, she had to be fair, to all parties involved, not just the Gryffindor house. "Rest assured, Mr. Potter will serve appropriate punishment for disrespecting a Hogwarts teacher's personal boundaries. Now, unless there's anything you'd like to add?"

Severus' stare flickered, his features in firelight once more, and she saw he was frowning. He took a breath and paused for a moment, as if unsure whether to continue. "I don't want him punished. This is a personal matter."

 _What an odd request coming from a man who would usually jump at the chance to take points from Gryffindor,_ Minerva thought, but outwardly maintained the stern-yet-attentive facade. "Severus? Are you certain?"

Severus' arms were crossed, his fingers dug in just a touch too deeply. "We can all agree this particular incident is best left forgotten."

"As you wish. There's one more thing I must ask…"

He turned to her, stiff-shouldered, carrying himself with that careful sort of elegance, the dark mass of his robes at his back flaring like a drake's wing. "Yes?"

There was something he said that she wanted to follow up with a clarification. "You mentioned Potter tried to remind you of a lost skill. What did you mean by that?"

Severus' arms fell at his sides and he looked at her, so utterly adrift. "It's best I demonstrate," he murmured. _Demonstrate what?_ she thought. And then, broomless, wandless and wordless, with just a faint billow of robes, Snape rose in the air before her, hovering two feet above the dungeon floor.

It was an extraordinary sight but all Minerva could think of in that particular moment is a large, batlike shape flying through the darkness toward the perimeter wall, framed by a Severus Snape-shaped hole in the window. She had assumed that this was a dark spell, bestowed by Voldemort on every Death Eater of a certain rank.

She had also once assumed that he was a cold-hearted murderer unworthy of atonement.

And yet, Hogwarts' alarms weren't going off. She reached out, casting a diagnostic spell, but faced this close with the unknown magic, she felt no tingle or chill from it. "So what you are suggesting is," she breathed and put her hand to her mouth, in disbelief. "Harry wanted you to fly all along."

Severus shook his head, landing once more, as his robes trailed behind him. "I thought so. Before -" He shook his head again as if to conceal a shudder. "It doesn't matter any longer."

"Severus?"

"I have nothing more to say on the matter. It's done. Although…" his lips twisted. "If I may inquire, who was the student who sounded the alarm regarding Potter and myself?"

Minerva shook her head. "That, I'm not at liberty to discuss. Though, I have all reasons to believe they had only Potter's best interests at heart." _We all do. The poor lad really must be smitten._ She sighed. Potter was always fond of pushing the limits. Now that the urgent confrontations were off her plate, she braced herself for another conversation with Potter. _As soon as possible,_ she thought. _Best not stress him with waiting any more than he already must be._

 _Oh, Harry. You never did try to do things the easy way._

On the way out of the dungeon, she summoned a house-elf. "Tell Harry Potter I need to see him in my office at the earliest convenience. He may be excused from class to do so."

* * *

It seemed just an hour ago, Harry took the same steps up to Headmistress McGonagall's office. Every step up seemed to drain his energy.

He opened the doors and walked in, his mind uneasy with worry. He swallowed down a wave of nausea and continued on.

"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?"

"Yes, Harry, come in," she gestured him to the same seat. The white quill rested on the surface of the table. The same carved wooden designs adorned the edge of the heavy tabletop. "Sit."

Harry sat down.

"I won't keep you long. I did want to let you know that I've spoken with Professor Snape," Headmistress McGonagall said. "At this point, I am willing to forgo examining your memories via the Pensieve out of respect for your privacy." Her lips thinned. "Needless to say, if an incident like this ever occurs again, there will be far more serious consequences."

Harry released a deep sigh. What else was there to expect with McGonagall? She was fond of reminding anyone, but especially Gryffindors, about their responsibilities as Hogwarts students and the consequences of their actions.

"I won't try to kiss him" - _or anyone!_ \- "again if that's what you mean," Harry said, quiet and final. The words fell like a stone in the water, settling slowly into the lakebottom, never to see the sun again. _What are the odds of it happening now, anyway?_ "As long as I'm at Hogwarts," Harry added. "You have my word."

Headmistress McGonagall listened carefully as she cleaned her glasses with the folds of her robe. And then, what she said next, was something Harry least expected to hear.

"I am concerned for you right _now_ , Harry, the question of your future behavior can wait. Perhaps… have you spoken to Professor Snape about this matter?"

Harry raised his head up for the first time in the longest time and stared at her. Her features were calm, there was concern in the twist of her brow, in the pattern of the wrinkles around her mouth.

Harry fought to keep his face from twisting in a grimace. _How can I? He'll never speak to me again! We'll never talk to each other as equals. I'll never see him fly!_

In the end, he just shook his head.

"Then don't you think you should, hm?"

 _How can I?_ Harry buried his head in his hands. "He won't talk to me, I… don't you think I'd be right there if I thought for a second he'd let me in through the door."

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall's voice overrode him, gentle and persistent. "It's not about what Professor Snape might do, or won't do, it's not about what-ifs, or what-has-beens. You owe it to yourself, and to him, to make the move to mend things over, and an apology is a good place to start, but when it comes down to it it's your call what to say." She let out a sigh. "Harry, from what I've heard of the situation, things were left unfinished. Clearly, they cannot continue that way, and I will not have you missing another lecture! So do make it an effort to sort it out, promptly. Or I will be forced to intervene. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry let out a frantic breath and pushed himself up from his chair. "Yes, Headmistress."

McGonagall's stern lips twitched in a brief smile. "Professor Snape is… a complicated man. But he isn't heartless. Far from it. I can imagine he needs closure just as much as you do. I could only guess he was quite shocked by your actions. You owe him an explanation at the very least, only then can you start to move on and learn from what has transpired and we can all do our best to get you ready to take your N.E.W.T.s. Now, if I am not mistaken, your Transfigurations lecture is about to end. If you hurry, you may be in time to collect your belongings and make it to your next class."

Harry left the Headmistress' office with the weight over his chest slightly lighter than before. He knew what he had to do.

It didn't make it any easier to actually go through with it. _Back to Transfigurations first,_ he thought to himself. _Then Herbology. Then Defence. And only after that, I'll need to see Snape._

* * *

It just so happened that Severus had time between lectures in the afternoon, and his office had been unusually quiet. He should have busied himself with marking papers, but one stern look at the collection of drivel fifth-years had attempted to pass as the Study of the Varieties of Veritaserum and he groaned, unwilling to start applying sarcasm and red ink in copious quantities just yet. Instead, he set it aside and had summoned the house-elf, asking for Harry Potter's complete school record to be pulled out of storage. He had to do something to drive the unsettling memories of conversations with the Headmasters and the Headmistresses of Hogwarts, past or present, out of his mind.

The scrawny creature bowed low and returned promptly five minutes later with a thick stack of papers and scrolls. "Professor Snape, Sir, wants records! Winsy finds them all."

"Yes, thank you," Severus directed the elf to the nearest cleared surface and winced at the rising cloud of dust resulting from the stack as it was placed on the desk. The elf sneezed and snapped his fingers, making the dust-cloud vanish.

"Will Professor Snape be wanting anything else?"

"This is all," Severus waved off the elf and peered at the first page containing the preserved copies of Harry Potter's birth announcement in the Daily Prophet. He settled down for a long read.

It wasn't until he was about a quarter through the papers that Snape got up and paced, trying to squash the unease growing at the picture portrayed in the records. Exaggerations, surely, they called Potter malnourished, for example. (He was always a skinny boy.) There were other accounts from Hagrid and from Dumbledore hinting at a far from rosy childhood. The descriptions didn't mince words and the summary suggested that Potter's childhood situation had reeked of abandonment, if not worse. In fact, Snape fell by habit into the jerky walk of a spider, a teenage compulsion he thought he abandoned long ago, what he had glimpsed in the files of Vernon Dursley, and he was skilled in reading between the lines, had painted the picture of a brute. Surely being left alone once or twice or being made to finish your childhood chores didn't warrant such melodramatic exaggeration!

Snape set the notes down and crossed his arms over his chest. He felt a sudden chill. The school address listed for Potter's Hogwarts letter began with 'Cupboard Under the Stairs'. _A prank? A playspace. Surely not where an eleven-year-old boy actually slept._

 _Or was it?_

What did Potter do at Privet Drive, spending his days hiding out in a storage cupboard?

Suddenly, a coppery taste rose in Snape's throat, the taste of Avada Kedavra directed at a fly. And another. And another. He hunched as if expecting his parent's ghosts to start arguing in the room next door. He flinched as if expecting a slap from his father's calloused hand. "Always underfoot, boy!" _Father didn't do it often…_

 _Damnation!_

Snape stopped, as if the memory of that slap manifested and was made real this very second. He could almost feel his face sting. He could almost taste the bitterness of coal in the air of Cokeworth streets. His vision dimmed into a bleak, greying sight of winters at Spinner's End.

Harry Potter's childhood at Privet Drive had its share of ghosts, didn't it?

Suddenly determined to scrutinize and study each one, Snape turned to the pile of papers on the sitting room's table. He had more reading to do.

It wasn't until another thirty minutes that he caught himself leaning back with a bad taste in his mouth once more. Not at the reading itself, at the pattern of thoughts running through his head. At the distanced scrutiny of his own reaction to the handwritten account of Harry Potter's childhood. His thoughts fell into a pattern of comparison, then dismissal which even he couldn't ignore.

 _Barred windows._ _Not that bad,_ he thought. _Keeps the monsters out as well as in._

 _Hand-me-downs? From… Dudley Dursley, is it?_ The brute's boy was probably as bad as his father at dealing out punches… _Ha, at least he had a cousin his age, not a mother who barely mastered a sewing spell._

Snape rubbed his temples. _Wait, what am I doing?_

 _This isn't about me. It's not._

He sat and buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his tired eyes.

This surely wasn't a case of one outcast trying in desperation to compartmentalise another life's story. It can't be. I wasn't. But...

Privet Drive, Spinner's End. No matter how you dressed it up, they both had the same echoing feel underneath, where it counted.

 _Is this what Dumbledore meant for me to discover? That Harry's not a spoiled beast we've all expected him to be? Does he think I don't know it already?_

Still, it was a shock comparable to plunging one's hand into an icy river to run across a plain note in Dumbledore's loopy handwriting: _It's without a doubt that the boy comes from an abusive home. It's something that will remain with him for the rest of his life._

Severus' fingers traced over Dumbledore's words. They shook, and Severus fought against that tremor. _An abusive home,_ a thought escaped unbidden. _Is this what it is? Is this what it feels like?_

So sudden that thought was, disruptive as a thunderbolt, that Severus was back on the streets of Cokeworth, that very second, in Mother's old shirt too thin for the weather. _We were poor… Mum and Dad fought. It's how things were, always. It was nothing out of the ordinary._

Except it was. To Lily. To Dumbledore. To just about everyone Severus has met.

 _Not to Harry._

Severus' hand formed a fist over the papers as he called for the house-elf to return. He'd seen enough to know exactly why he'd given up that particular memory of his own childhood to Potter. It might as well have been a wordless cry: _I am like you. We understand each other. We are on the same side._

 _We both know what an abusive home is._

 _I too came from one._

* * *

"Mister Potter?" Professor Merrythought peered at Harry through her rimmed glasses. He was still gathering his books into a bag on his desk, stalling, the last one to leave the room. "Don't you have anywhere else to rush off to?"

Harry's mouth twisted in a rueful smirk. "I could ask you the same, Professor."

"Me?" her toothless smile widened like a child's. "Well, come closer if you'd like. I never have anywhere to go, I'm exactly where I want to be. Here with my yarn and my needles. Knitting is a beautiful skill to have, you know why, lad? Ask me! Come on."

"Er," Harry blinked. "Why's that?"

"Sometimes, when you have a knotty problem to worry about, all you can do is retrace your steps and unravel three or four rows until you get them right. Or," she beamed to herself, "if you're crafty enough, just let loose the wrong stitches and reknit! That's why it's such a flexible craft. Soothes the troubled spirit, it does. Can't quite do anything like that with crochet or lacework, or even cross-stitch. Knitting though," she spoke around one wooden needle in between her remaining teeth, "once you find that one stitch that was knitted wrong, all you need is a good hook and… hold this!" She thrust the entire tangled web onto Harry's grasp. "Didn't anyone ever teach you how to wield a pair of needles?"

Harry thought of Mrs. Figg and her cats and the wool yarn and the smell of mothballs. "No," he shook his head. "Don't think I ever had the chance."

"Well, it's a great way to concentrate. Counting stitches keeps your head clear. Clear enough to keep from making all the idiotic mistakes in the world. So if you ever thought of going into teaching..."

"Can't say I have."

"Why not, lad? You'd make a decent professor. When it comes to this class, you can teach this old crow some new tricks, and that's saying a lot."

Harry was rather confused by it all, but experience taught him to be nice to old ladies. "Thank you, I think."

"Don't thank me." She cackled. "After all, I'd like to see this position go to good hands. The idea of a second retirement is nothing to scoff at."

 _Does she really think I'd make a good Defence instructor? Me? I've been daydreaming through half of her lectures so far._

 _Hm,_ Harry thought.

 _All those times I've thought of leaving Hogwarts at the end of the year, I never quite thought of staying instead. Wouldn't be so terrible, if it wasn't for this business with Snape._

 _I do have to talk to him, don't I?_

He stood up, returning the slightly less messy bundle of yarn to its owner. "Thank you, Professor Merrythought. I… actually I do have somewhere to be."

She beamed at him and waved him off, entertained by her creation. "Well, go on then. Don't let me keep you waiting." She peered at the half-knitted sock on her lap, narrowed her eyes, and then pulled the yarn with a rapid swing, unravelling several rows at once. Harry had heard her mumbling all the way to the corridor. "Letting go is the lesson. Letting go is always the lesson. All can be unravelled and reknit anew..."

Harry didn't listen afterwards because his feet carried him down the corridor and around the turn and down those stairs through the barely lit part of the castle. Through the door to the left and then another flight of stairs down, with the worn emerald rugs muffling his footsteps as he hurried on. He knew these passageways by heart by now. He didn't need a map or a spell to find his way. Soon enough the flickers of the lamps alongside the walls turned silver and grey and the stonework turned muted and sombre. He was in the Slytherin part of the dungeon. So close. More stairs, and he leapt over three of them in a rush, just another turn, and a stretch of a corridor and right there, _there,_ was Snape's office door.

The gap between it and the floor shone golden. A solitary shadow moved within. Snape was there.

Harry took a deep breath and lifted his hand to knock.


End file.
